Conflicts
by icedcooly
Summary: A completed 6 chapter story of Aoshi and Misao angst. It's very, very dark. ^_^;
1. Part One: At The Beginning

Conflicts by Charlene 

Part One: At the Beginning 

Standard disclaimers apply 

I watch you growing/sometimes I see myself in you/it can be scary sometimes/but kinda funny too/I hear you talking /a lot of similarities/your choice of words/and all the fantasies/just the way we are/I guess you've seen it now/a mirror of ourselves sure makes us weird falling down/from a mountain of frights/what's there to hold on to?/the way you make us all smile/and the despair when you just won't go to sleep/you could have me walking a mile/to make you smile/still it's not really a weep/I know you fooled me a million times/I just can't help it/don't know just the way we are/I know you hate it/but they really have to do what they do/you're crying out your wishes/I understand/yet they don't have a clue—Lene Marlin's "The Way We Are" 

Aoshi sat quietly in his meditating position. The air around him was cool, calm, soothing. It was a perfect morning to rest his soul and gain inner peace. As he clasped his hands loosely on his crossed legs, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

The colours began to swim slowly…then all was black. His mind was blank, emptied of everything. Nothingness surrounded him protectively and a sense of calm security washed over him as he began to relax in his tranquility. 

"Aoshi-sama!" Aoshi's eyes flew open. He glanced around but there was no one in sight. What was wrong with him? He shook his head as if to clear it of all distractions and inhaled again, ready to resume his meditation. But peace did not come to him. The colours did not meld together in a soft myriad as before. 

Instead, an image of Misao appeared before him, smiling, happy as always. Aoshi frowned. Why couldn't he concentrate? He had done this a million times before. He knew that each time was different, refreshing and unique in its own way. He managed to find peace with himself and his heart each time in a different way. 

But today…Aoshi let out an annoyed grunt and glanced quickly around as if to assure himself that there was no one watching him. He closed his eyes and tried again…but it was too late. His concentration was completely shattered, his mind filled with perturbing thoughts that needled him. 

Exasperated with himself, Aoshi finally got up, knowing it was hopeless to keep trying. One could not practice Zen when one was not at ease with himself, his surroundings or his mind. Misao…you distract me even when you're not around…he thought bemusedly. Yet through the seeming normality of the situation, he felt strongly that something was amiss. Ever since he had turned to meditation for comfort and protection from the harsh realities of the truths Battousai put up to him, he had not once been unable to concentrate. 

Enough of this nonsense, he commanded himself. So what? For one day meditation is unable to offer the protection that you seek and something's wrong?! Aoshi rolled his eyes. He was going crazy. 

And yet he couldn't shake the feeling of unease and uncertainty. Gathering his kodachi and heading out of the temple to the Aoiya, he knew, somehow, whether it be through swordsman intuition or plain instinct, that something was out of place and that, even though he hadn't yet seen it, he wouldn't like it one bit. 

Misao muttered curses under her breath as she worked furiously away at the front porch with a worn-out broom. Clouds of dust shot up in the air, making Misao cough angrily. "Who does that Okina think he is? Ordering me around and saying things about Aoshi… he's such a rotten old geezer! Only gets meaner as he gets older!" 

Her mind wandered back to the scene between him, her, Okon and Omasu in the kitchen. "Misao-chan…why don't you help out more around here? In case you haven't noticed, we've been short-handed for a while now," Okon began, trying to sound tactful. She knew how dangerous Misao could be when provoked. 

"Yeah," put in Omasu quickly. "You've just been dreaming and practicing your kunai tossing ever since Kenshin and the others left for Tokyo!" Misao just gaped, completely caught off guard. "Misao! Stop all this nonsense! He's too old, and besides, he can't even feel!" Okina's deep voice rang out. As soon as the words had left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. But it was too late. 

After keicho kicking all of them, Misao (feeling a little guilty) grabbed a broom and set to work on the front porch. What needled her wasn't that they were right about her laziness, but that they were right about Aoshi. He was too old, and he could hardly even feel. Why was she then so obsessed over a person who didn't even seem human? 

Gritting her teeth, Misao vented her frustrations on the poor broom which swept across the floors with a resounding crack. "Misao-chan! You'll wear the floors down smooth soon!" a polite masculine voice interrupted her. 

Misao snapped her head up and was greeted by a remarkably handsome and well-dressed young man with strangely familiar green eyes. Immediately self-conscious, Misao cursed inwardly that her hair was stuck to her forehead in sweaty clumps and that her home clothes were dusty, dishevelled and hardly presentable. 

"H-how did you know my name?" she asked quickly, trying to cover her embarrassment. The man smiled faintly, seemingly disappointed. "Don't you remember me, Misao-chan? I mean, I know it's been what—eight, nine years, but I was sure you would recognize me…" Misao frowned, racking her brain for an answer. How could she have known such a good-looking and so obviously well off youth at eight? 

She glanced up into his sea green eyes, meaning to apologize for her sudden loss of memory, but the answer came to her suddenly. "Kami-sama! Shinji! Takeshi Shinji! Is that—really you?" 

The man sighed in apparent relief and gave her a warm smile. "Finally! After all, we all but bathed in the same bath water!" "You—are you truly—but you can't—" Misao could not stop sputtering in her shock and incredulity. Shinji kindly gave her time to regain her composure, and when she did, Misao threw him a coy glance and, whipping out some kunai, proceeded to accurately pin them onto a nearby pillar in a fluid, practiced motion. 

"See! I told you I would eventually get it right!" she crowed triumphantly. Shinji laughed at her and taunted, "But you still can't do it as well as I could!" A brief scuffle ensued, but was halted when the main doors of the Aoiya were pushed open by a curious and impatient Okina. "Misao, aren't you going to invite—kisama! Shinji? Is that you?" Shinji smiled once again, in his politely pleasant way. 

"Ho! I knew it was you! There's no mistaking those green eyes!" Okina roared joyously, and, in a moment of impulse, reached out and grabbed the young man into one of his signature rib-cracking hugs. Misao, with a squeal of delight, stepped forward and enveloped both men in her own bear hug. 

It was this moment that Aoshi chose to arrive home. "Who's this," he said quietly, inclining his head slightly in Shinji's direction. Misao stepped back from both men and shrieked happily, "It's Shinji, Aoshi-sama! Don't you remember—" "I do," he cut her off coldly with a wave of his hand. Once again, as always, his expression showed no surprise, shock or even slight interest. 

Misao's face fell. With a sudden flash of memory, she remembered that Aoshi-sama never did like Shinji for some reason or other. Although Shinji had been but two years older than her, and Aoshi much older than the both of them, they had somehow never gotten along, much less become as good friends as Misao was with Shinji. Aoshi had never tried to hide his apparent dislike for the boy. 

"So you finally decided to come back?" Aoshi, still expressionless, addressed the tall good-looking fellow before him. Both men exchanged icy looks. "I did," Shinji returned the greeting coolly. Aoshi, throwing him a final withering glance, strode past the three of them into the Aoiya. 

Misao laughed nervously, to break the tension. "C'mon, Shinji! Let's go inside! Okon and Omasu have probably created a huge feast! Let me assure you—Aoiya's food are delicious and we have many specialties! You must be starving!" As she rambled on, Okina shook his head and ushered the both of them inside. 

"So what have you been doing with yourself the past few years?" Okina asked conversationally, as he reached for his chopsticks. A wide spread of "Aoiya's specialties" lay before them and everyone, even Aoshi, was at the table. "I thought you'd never ask!" Shinji replied laughingly. 

"After I returned from Switzerland, I went to Aizu to study medicine and am now assigned to a small clinic here as an assistant!" "Honto?" Misao questioned incredulously. "Somehow, I never really thought you would actually make something of yourself—" The table rocked with merry laughter. 

"A clinic here? There's only one and it belongs to Oshima Sensei, but has been taken over by his daughter Tomiko. Is that the one you're talking about?" asked Okon curiously. 

Shinji nodded, somewhat surprised. "You're gonna be assistant to Tomiko?!" Misao exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. Shinji nodded again, puzzled by her outburst. A scene of Shinji and Tomiko treating a patient's wounds together flashed into Misao's mind. "You stitch wounds up so good, Shin-san!" "Ano…" "Ohohohoho!" (Typical Megumi laugh). 

Misao grimaced in distaste. Was it just her, or were all female doctors notorious boyfriend-stealers and flirts with freaky laughs? 

Misao face-faulted. "Don't mind her. Let's eat," urged Okina. Everyone dug into the feast hungrily, except Aoshi. He seldom ate together with the rest, and when he did, he rarely touched the food. Sometimes though, Misao would notice and urge him to eat. But not today…it was Shinji's fault. 

His appetite gone, Aoshi got up and mumbled, "Sumimasen." He left the room abruptly, and for once, nobody seemed to notice. 

The next morning, Misao went along with Shinji to Tomiko's clinic. She didn't trust the notorious young lady so like the fox-lady in Aizu and besides, she wanted to cheer her bestfriend on for his first job. As they walked along in companionable silence, Misao's thoughts wandered to back when Shinji and her were the best of friends. 

"Betcha can't toss the kunai even three feet!" mocked Shinji with an idiotic smirk on his face. Misao scrunched up her face and grabbed the kunai to take him up on the dare. It had always been a thing with her and him and kunai. He had just learnt a few basic skills from the Oniwabanshuu and had just about bragged his head off ever since. 

She did toss the kunai, and she couldn't toss it more than three feet, and she did try millions of times after, but she had only succeeded learning how to throw kunai without unintentionally hurting herself and others, after Shinji had left. 

Why had he left anyway? Oh yes, Misao remembered. There was that challenge another member of the Oniwabanshuu—a big tall fellow named Tanaka, put up to him. Her heart contracted painfully as she remembered how Tanaka had dared Shinji to run on top of the roofs of all the houses in the entire neighbourhood during a thunderstorm. It was a silly dare, but Shinji had never turned down a dare before, and he wasn't about to. 

On a particularly slippery roof, Shinji slipped and fell three stories down. Misao's eyes misted as she remembered how she had tearfully called out his name for fear that he would never wake up. But he did, and that was the most frightening thing of all. His face was contorted with pain, his mouth open in speechless agony, and although he never said a word, Misao would always remember, from then on, what hurt and sorrow the rain brought whenever a storm approached. Dark, fear, the unknown, these were things that she had always shied away from because she knew they would hurt her. 

When Okina rushed him to the nearby clinic, the doctor said that he had severely broken his femur bone and would never walk again. However, he also added that medical research was very advanced in Switzerland, and so Shinji's father decided to take his son there in the hope that Shinji would be able to walk again. 

The years passed after Shinji's departure, and Misao pined for his companionship. She missed his fun-loving ways and boyish daring ideas. He always had a new game to play every day of the year and she loved being his playmate. Of course, being his companion had several other advantages too…like protection from Tanaka the bully, free stolen food from the kitchen, and…and… 

Misao smiled secretly. She had loved Shinji in a quiet way at that time too. Not the way she loved Aoshi-sama, of course. Nothing like that. The love she felt for Aoshi-sama was…in a class of its own. But she had felt…she didn't know, something for him each time she looked at him. A yearning tug of her heart strings. A dull hopeless throb. Misao sighed. She still loved him now, of course, but it was different. 

After the years he had spent at the school, Shinji was now a perfect gentleman with dignified manners and politeness way beyond the Shinji she had once known. He had lost his youthful boyishness and daring and everything that she had once so secretly admired in him was gone. He was a completely new person, and, of course, she had already devoted her life to Aoshi-sama and would never look twice at another man. "Why're you so quiet today, Misao-chan?" came Shinji's gentle voice. Misao quickly snapped out of her reverie and shook her head. "Daijoubu." 

They were reaching the clinic already, and Misao could just about imagine Tomiko's warm welcome. "Misao-chan, why, what're you doing here?" Misao mumbled something about knowing Shinji since he was ten, and Tomiko went on in her bright, squealing tone, "What a coincidence! Shin-san! You must come in and let me give you a tour of the clinic!" Misao cringed at the other woman's voice, which grated on her nerves. 

Shinji shrugged and followed Tomiko as she led the way. "Wait here for me," he whispered. "I'll get back soon and we'll have lunch at that restaurant…the Shirobeko, ne?" Misao brightened at her bestfriend's words and smiled appreciatively. 

Aoshi sighed as he strolled along one of the Aoiya's numerous flower gardens. He had become increasingly distracted over the past few days and had not been able to meditate for a while. Thus he had turned to taking strolls as an alternative in calming his soul. But the brilliant vibrancy of the flowers was lost on him as he strolled on, deep in thought. Aoshi was not one who had backed down from any challenge, especially one that he put up to himself and now he had to find out why he hadn't been able to meditate for so long. 

Was it his surroundings? Perhaps he needed to find a new place in which to acquire inner peace. The temple was getting old and maybe there were spirits lurking around to distract him. No…impossible. Aoshi knew that no matter how many senseless and groundless excuses he thought up, it would all be far from the truth. 

Takeshi Shinji. His long time nemesis. Why? No, he never did know why. He had hated him, detested his very existence the first time he saw him, as did Shinji. He recalled the first time he met him. 

That was when Misao was six, and still living with the Oniwabanshuu in the Aoiya. There was Shiro, at thirteen, whose father one day waltzed in with a man claiming to be his distant relative and his son, to be Shiro's distant cousin. Since the then okashira permitted it, Shinji was allowed to take lessons in training with Misao and a few of the younger bunch. 

When Shiro's father introduced them, Aoshi saw immediately that he would hate the lad and his eyes burned with cold arrogance and contempt. Shinji gave him a long appraising stare, then a final condescending glance before he pranced off to play with his new playmates. Misao… 

From then on, Misao had just about forgotten about her hero. Yes, he had to admit, he was bitter and green with envy that Shinji had all her attention and that they were closer in age than he was with her. But the fact that needled him right to the core was that Misao deserved a playmate like him. Adventurous, spunky, dare-devilish. Just like her. Aoshi had never made a good playmate. He only knew how to tell stories when she couldn't sleep and how to calm her during a thunderstorm. Little things like that he could do, but not running with her, laughing with her, like Shinji did just about everyday. It was just destined that they should be together. After all, they were closer in age and they had been so close when they were younger. Why not now? 

Aoshi ground his feet into the ground as he walked now, and it made a strange shuffling noise. He could just almost picture Misao's and Shinji's wedding… 

Suddenly he realized what he was doing and stopped. He mentally kicked himself for letting such a trivial matter affect him so much. After all, Misao wasn't anything to him. Just a sister and a loyal member of the Oniwabanshuu. Even if she was something more…she was still too young, and just a child. 

But one does not remain a child forever…a nagging voice whispered at the back of his mind. Yare, yare, Aoshi brushed it aside. I'll think about how to deal with that when the time comes. But he felt a chill of unease sweep over him even as he thought the thought. Perhaps…that time was now? 

"What would you like to order today?" Sae asked, smiling politely. Misao grinned and said quickly, "Sukiyaki for me!" Tomiko tut-tutted. "Maa, maa, Misao-chan. You have to wait for the man to give his order before you give yours. It is a basic act of courtesy," she reminded in her absolutely-dripping-with-syrup tone. Misao glowered at her, trying to tell her that she knew what the older lady was doing and that if she didn't stop it now, she would get it later. 

Misao sighed as she remembered how they came to be in the Shirobeko all together. She should never have agreed to it. 

"Misao-chan, I told Tomiko-san about the lunch and she would like to come along. Would that be okay?" Shinji asked softly, his gentle green eyes smiling down upon her. Misao felt her heart melt. Oh, whatever. After all, what harm could that lady do in one lunch at the Shirobeko?

She nodded amiably but her face hardened as soon as she saw that Tomiko had changed into a richly designed kimono and that Misao was still in her home clothes. Gotta get some new clothes…she thought numbly as she followed the pair. 

Snapping back to the present, Misao mumbled a barely audible apology and concentrated hard on the design of the table. "So, Shin-san. Tell me more about yourself," suggested Tomiko, batting her eyelids coquettishly and giving Shinji what she knew to be her most engaging smile. Shinji looked slightly taken aback, but answered calmly, "There's not much to tell. I was Shiro's distant cousin and part of the Oniwabanshuu. I grew up with Misao but left for Switzerland because I had broken my leg from a fall. Then I came back recovered and went to Aizu to study medicine." 

Tomiko hung on "Shin-san's" every word as if it were the most interesting speech she'd ever heard. Misao rolled her eyes. Sheesh, how desperate can she get? But she felt a chill of unease when she saw that Shinji's eyes grew more animated as Tomiko engaged him in more serious conversation. Tomiko was one irritating little pest to be sure, but she was also very beautiful and intelligent. 

Misao watched on helplessly as the pair chattered on, completely engrossed in their conversation and too interested to notice that she was seated there quietly like a mouse with no one to talk to. 

She let her mind wander idly to her Aoshi-sama and she wondered what he would be doing now. Meditating, she thought with a knowing smile. She had never understood why he had turned to meditation after that fight with Shishio. After all, it wasn't anything that interesting…was it? When she spied on him, all she saw was him seated cross-legged on the mat, his eyes closed and face serene. Sometimes, he even sat on for an hour without moving and Misao soon grew tired of watching him. She adored him with every living cell in her body, but there were limits to her patience too. 

Her heart warmed as she was once again reminded of the love she held so dear for him. Always for him. He would never know, and right now, she was content just staying like that forever. Her waiting on him, and him lost in Zen teachings, but would it be this way forever? Most probably. Did she want it to? 

Misao closed her eyes, confused. Did she want to have the same groundless, purely platonic on the surface relationship with him forever? Sure, she was content most of the time just to watch him from afar and admire him with her whole body emanating adoration. But, there had to be something more in life and, after all, weren't relationships meant to reach higher levels all the time instead of stabilizing? 

"Misao-chan," Shinji's deep unruffled voice brought her back to the present. "N-nani?" she started. "You've been so quiet. Is there something wrong?" Misao quickly shook her head. "I'm alright. You two go on talking," she added, a tinge of bitterness unconsciously staining what she intended to be a bright and happy tone. 

Shinji shook his head. "I know better. After lunch let's go take a walk. Just you and me?" he lowered his voice so that Tomiko wouldn't hear. Misao put on her brightest smile and nodded enthusiastically. She had forgotten how sensitive and tactful Shinji was. Looks like he hadn't lost all of him over the years, she thought wryly. 

Shinji watched in admiration as the beautiful girl pranced through the streets with life and exuberance beyond any girl her age. She skipped like a happy lamb over to a stallholder who she apparently knew and laughingly greeted her. 

Misao was still the same after so many years. She hadn't changed a bit. "She is too active and tomboyish for her own good, isn't she?" remarked a sly Tomiko, thinking that she was voicing his sentiments. Shinji, not wanting to appear rude, replied in a hushed whisper, "No, I think it's good for her. She has always been this way." It would be a shame if the bright sunny Misao I used to know had dimmed into a fading light, an artificial mask with paint and ornaments adorning her hair. 

Sure, she was a beautiful thing, but she didn't flaunt it or try to even emphasize it. In fact, he would almost say she was unaware of her own femininity. Shinji smiled in a somewhat pleased manner. Then I will be the one to remind her… 

Omasu was not stupid. She had seen all that was going on lately in the Aoiya and she knew exactly what was happening. She couldn't be absolutely sure about it, and so she was going to prove that her premonitions were not entirely groundless. 

She cared about Misao deeply, in a motherly way. And, like every caring mother, she didn't want Misao to get hurt. Her womanly intuition had told her things Misao was still too innocent to perceive and she wanted to warn Misao before anything happened. She sighed. She knew, ultimately, that it would be Misao's choice, and yet… 

Was Misao strong enough, old enough, to make such a choice? Did she have any idea what the consequences would be? Omasu knew the answer was no. Misao was still too young and ignorant of the matters of love, and although it was well known that she loved Aoshi with all her heart, somehow, Omasu knew Misao had not fully learnt how to love yet. She had not grasped the full meaning of what it was to desire, to want to make sacrifices and to…love. 

But then again, had anybody ever fully comprehended love? Omasu shook her head. Stop confusing yourself! The only thing you must focus on now is to try and find out Shinji's real reasons for coming back to the Aoiya! 

Evenings at the Aoiya were always quiet and peaceful. The magnificent gardens constructed especially for the customers to relax and draw comfort from, were always there to attract the fresh cool breeze and the monotonous drones of the crickets. Somehow the song of the crickets had always comforted her at night. It didn't now… Omasu sighed for the task that lay before her. 

Padding quickly across the floors, Omasu reached Shinji's room and knocked softly on the door with one hand. The other hand supported a small tea tray laden with five small cups and a porcelain teapot stewing with fragrant green tea. 

"Yes?" She heard Shinji's muffled answer. Omasu gently slid open the door and stepped inside. "The night is cold, Shinji-san, and I thought you might like some tea," she offered softly, kneeling to set out the tea. 

Shinji watched as the older woman lay out the tea tray with her practiced movements. "Arigatou, Omasu-san," he thanked her. There was no need for both of them to behave so politely to each other—they had known each other a long way back, but Shinji felt that there was something more to this visit than just tea. 

He waited patiently for her to take the initiative and tell him what she was really here for. "Shinji-san…" He waited. "I've noticed that you and Misao have gotten really close…" Omasu began hesitantly. She still wasn't sure how to approach the subject tactfully, and she was doing it the safest way she knew—with patience, tact and lots of careful inch-by-inch probing. "We have always been close, Omasu-san," Shinji interjected quickly. 

"Yes, yes, I know that," Omasu answered quickly. "But it's different now. You two are adults now, and you know I am like family to her, and I am concerned that the things that are happening now…well, that Misao may not be able to handle them as she should. I'm sure you know what I mean…" she faltered. 

Shinji shook his head, puzzled. What was she getting at? "I don't understand." Omasu paused, lifting the teapot to pour the steaming green liquid into the small cup. For a moment, there was just silence in the room, broken only by the soft silky murmur of liquid against the cup. 

"Why did you come back to the Aoiya, Shinji?" she asked finally. Shinji's gaze faltered, but then he looked back into her eyes with quiet confidence. "To see all of you again, Omasu-san. If you don't like me being here, I could always…" 

Omasu shook her head vigorously, scared that Shinji was taking it the wrong way. "No! I only meant…I just wanted to know the real reason why you came back. It can't be just to see all of us. I know there is something more…because I can see it in the way you look at her, the way you talk with her and laugh with her. A woman would be blind not to notice these things." Shinji made to protest, but she barrelled on, afraid that her courage would leave her if she stopped. She had to finish what she'd started. 

"Shinji, I noticed all these things right from the start, even back to when you and her were just children! I know you love her, Shinji, I just don't want her—or anyone to get hurt! Misao is but a child…she has yet to understand all the complexities of so delicate a matter! It would be hard, even cruel, to force something on her if she is not ready. She is but a child…" 

Shinji listened to Omasu unburden herself, warily. The truth of her words bore down on him hard. She was right, so completely and absolutely right. Misao would never be able to face much less make the decision he himself had so long ago made. She was still the happy, carefree spirit he always knew. She could not be tied down cruelly. And yet he had harboured the hope that she would accept for so long in his heart. 

All through the years he spent in Switzerland, wishing that he would die because of the endless torment the doctors inflicted on him, all through the sleepless nights, painful therapy and experiments the doctors practiced on him, his love for Misao had fueled him like oil fueled fire. He had realized just then, that he loved her so entirely and that one day, no matter what, he would have her. And she would have him. 

Omasu watched Shinji's expression change gradually from genuine puzzlement, to one of a man broken down by the harsh truth her words carried. He glanced up at her dully, when he realized that she had stopped talking. 

"You're right." Omasu was unprepared for his answer. "I'm—but—" She had at least expected him to put up a fight, the way men always did when notions they had carried around in their minds were being challenged by a mere woman. 

"About both things. It's true that I came back for Misao, and it's also true that she would never be able to stand up to what I was thinking of putting up to her. She is brave and by nature a fighter, but some things she could never understand…" he went on tonelessly, deadly. Omasu searched his face for any sign, any sign of emotion at all, but it was closed, just like Aoshi's. 

"I'm not trying to cause a rift, or anything. I just needed you to know that…" Omasu said dubiously. "It is still ultimately Misao's choice—we have no right to make it for her. I just felt that you had forgotten what a free spirit she is. It would be impossible to tie her down unless she wanted to be. And even if you did, she would be miserable. And a miserable Misao is not anything you would want in the household…" she added, trying to keep her tone light. 

Suddenly Shinji started, as if he had been tapped awake from a dream. "That…Aoshi, is there—anything between him and Misao?" 

Omasu seemed surprised that he knew about Misao and Aoshi. He had only been here two days…but of course! Misao had worshipped Aoshi since the day she breathed her first breath. Shinji would be stupid not to notice that she still worshipped her Aoshi-sama. Worshipped…or loved? Omasu didn't know which, but she was sure she would find out soon. "Aoshi-sama is forever her hero. You know that." 

"Yes…but is there anything—else?" Shinji struggled to find the right words, but Omasu understood. "Nobody knows. But to have worshipped someone for so long, to have adored and idolized a man for her whole life, wouldn't you think all that would have blossomed into something more by now?" 

Shinji looked up sharply. Omasu's polite tone was unchanged, but her words had been cutting, to his ears at least. 

Omasu mentally reproached herself. She had hurt Shinji unintentionally. She didn't want to hurt him, she loved him like a mother, almost as much as she loved Misao. But she needed to protect Misao's and Aoshi's relationship, or what was left of it anyway. After Aoshi had come back from Mount Hiei, interaction between him and anyone else was cut off. Especially with him and Misao. Their relationship had deteriorated so quickly, they were almost like strangers to each other. 

And that pained her. She couldn't bear to pass Misao's room in the night and hear her quiet sobs, she couldn't bear to see Misao cringe in hurt when Aoshi rebuffed her, or had turned away her good intentions. Although Misao had tried to be the brave soul she had always been about everything, she was but a sixteen year old. Sixteen year old girls could only stand so much and sooner or later, Misao would eventually break down, and probably give herself up to any man available at the moment. And Shinji would be there waiting. Omasu drew a heavy sigh. 

It wasn't that Shinji was a bad person…he was the perfect husband, to be precise. Rich, steady job, handsome, educated and loving, he would give Misao everything she needed. But everything she wanted? Shinji was not for Misao—Aoshi was, and that Omasu could be certain of. She was about to voice her thoughts, when— 

"Thank you…for the tea, Omasu-san. I think I'd better retire," Shinji said wearily. He had had enough of Omasu and her hard troubling truths. He needed to rest. "Alright, Shinji-san. Oyasumi nasai," she retreated with the hardly touched tea tray. 

Notes: Okay, first I want to make this clear: Shinji IS a nice person. He's really really nice, and he really really loves Misao and wants to show it besides, which is more than I can say for a certain skulking silent freak. Next, I think Omasu is pretty much like a mother to Misao so don't be surprised if she wants to do something about Aoshi. Lastly, I sorta changed the Oniwabanshuu history a bit but that's okay, right? RIGHT? 

  



	2. Part Two: Of The Mind

Conflicts by Charlene 

Part Two: Of the Mind 

Standard disclaimers apply 

Make me a witness/take me out/out of darkness/out of doubt/I won't weigh you down/with good intention/won't make fire out of clay/or other inventions/will we burn in heaven/like we do down here/will the change come/while we're waiting/everyone is waiting/and when we're done/soul searching/as we carried the weight/and died for the cause/is misery made beautiful right before our eyes/will mercy be revealed/or blind us where we stand/will we burn in heaven/like we do down here/will the change come while we're waiting/everyone is waiting—Sarah McLachlan's "Witness" 

"Ohayou, Aoshi-sama!" greeted Misao cheerily as she entered the temple with a tea tray, and immediately began setting out the things. She expected no answer from him, as usual, and was content to be able just to serve him. So she froze when she heard Aoshi mutter, "Ohayou, Misao." She looked up quizzically but he had already closed his eyes and resumed meditating. Meditating…always meditating…didn't he ever stop? Sure, meditation offered calm and peace and all that crap, but didn't it get boring after a while? She was about to ask him, but then decided not to. She didn't want to bother him with her questions—not when he was actually starting to be nicer to her. 

She set out to tea as quietly as she could, then picked up a small cup filled with the hot fragrant drink and offered it to him without a word. He opened his eyes and glanced at her, the question in his eyes. She practically glowed with radiance today and seeing her earnest expression and genuine desire to serve him, he could not refuse accepting the small cup she held out to him. 

She grinned from ear to ear. Could things get any better? He had actually greeted her this morning, and even accepted her tea! She could not resist asking him if he liked it, just to see how far he would go, but he only gave a small nod and clammed up. 

Misao sighed as she cleared the tea things and got up to return them to the kitchen. Well, as least she tried. She hummed as she made her way to the kitchen. Life couldn't get any better…well, it could, but that wasn't the point. The point was, that she had her three favourite men in all the world at her side. Okina her father, Aoshi the object of her affection, and Shinji her…brother? 

Somehow she couldn't imagine him being just a kind helpful older brother to turn to only for help. He was something more to her, not a lot more, but enough to make her certain that he and her could never simply have a brother-sister relationship. That confused her. If they weren't simply bestfriends, or practically siblings, then what were they? They had to be something… 

She rolled the puzzlement around her head over and over again, hardly conscious of the beautiful sunny morning around her, which she usually craved and anticipated. Could Shinji be that much more than a brother? No, not to Aoshi status. Nobody reached Aoshi status in her heart. Aoshi status was unattainable, completely unobtainable. 

But she knew Shinji was more than a brother, and that he was not Aoshi status, so what could he be? Shinji status? Misao giggled in spite of herself. She couldn't believe she was still so immature after living sixteen years on this earth. Yeah, sure. Sixteen ignorant, useless years that taught you nothing. No wonder Aoshi ignores you. Look at him! She pictured serene, calm, always-oh-so-under-control Aoshi with his dispassionate face meditating. Then she pictured herself with her signature braid whipping in every direction as she skipped hither and thither in her battle outfit. 

Misao winced. How could she ever hope, much less expect Aoshi-sama to ever even take a second glance at her? So what could she do to salvage the situation? Don a kimono, smear her face with white powder and go parading into town in a fluffy whirl of silk and perfume imitating Tomiko's artificial laugh and contentious ways? 

Could she ever compromise herself in that way? Put on pretentious airs and fanciful ways just to impress Aoshi? Somehow it just didn't seem right. She could never imagine him being charmed by someone like Tomiko. But at least it was better than the present her…right? After all, she had tried enthusiasm, humour, fun—all the things she was so used to and nothing had worked. She had to get Aoshi-sama through all ways and means. It was imperative that she get her man. 

Misao chuckled at the seriousness she was dealing this with. 

As she entered the kitchen, she saw that Shiro was chopping away at some vegetables. "For lunch? Why so much food?" she asked, gesturing to the table laden with uncooked food. Shiro glanced up surprised. "Oshima Sensei and Tomiko-san are coming for lunch, Misao-chan. Didn't you know?" 

Misao rolled her eyes and heaved an emphatic sigh. "Not her!" Shiro nodded sympathetically. He, like all the other Oniwabanshuu, had a special place in his heart for his dear little okashira. Of course, she wasn't really okashira to them, more of a young impulsive child who tried to believe that she had some semblance of control over them. And they loved her, so they didn't care if she tried to take over sometimes. After all, she did try really hard to be worthy of her title. 

"Yeah, get yer butt over here and help already!" Misao gave an angry yelp. "I'm your okashira! You don't give me orders!" Shiro tried to dodge the flying kunai and save the vegetables from becoming coleslaw at the same time. 

Shinji took each step with nervousness and apprehension. He was heading toward the temple Okon said Aoshi would be at. And trust me, he was no happy camper about making this little visit to the silent freak's domain. He exhaled sharply, trying to ease away his tension at meeting head-on with the man he had detested from the very first time he'd set eyes on him. 

The things I do for you, Misao…he thought, panicking as the small temple came into view and a lone figure materialized before his eyes. Aoshi was meditating. Should he bother him? Yes. He had to get this over and done with. He couldn't afford having Aoshi there to spoil his plans. 

A small memory solidified in his mind of the times when he and Misao were still bestfriends. "Misao-chan! Let's go down to the river and swim today! You can be the mermaid and I'll be the shark!" Shinji called as the junior Oniwabanshuu were dismissed for playtime. Playtime was precious in the Oniwabanshuu, since it was only a meagre hour and after that was more grueling work. 

Misao's bright happy face looked up at him in anticipation, but then her face darkened as she remembered something. "No, Shinji. I can't today. Aoshi-sama is going to give me extra lessons on my reading and writing. He says I have a lot of space for improvement," the girl added, trying to soothe the obviously disappointed Shinji. 

"But it's playtime!" he protested loudly. "Can't he give you lessons some other time?" Misao shook her head and her small braid swung from side to side. "Gomen, Shinji. I really need to learn. And besides, it was I who asked for the lessons. Aoshi-sama is always too busy to do anything else! It's about time he spent more time with me!" she cried, forgetting that Shinji was still standing before her. 

Shinji looked away from the lone figure in disgust. Aoshi-sama had always tried to interfere with their good times. He was the only one who kept Misao from him during their precious playtime, and now he was keeping Shinji from asking Misao to be his wife. Shinomori…he thought darkly. 

Aoshi was deep in his meditation, but not so deep that he could not sense a person approaching. His eyes flew open. Misao…? No. It was a man. He did not hurry, just waited patiently for the person to come into better view and when he did, Aoshi scowled. What would that jerk be doing here? You've taken Misao and now you want my peace and concentration too. He watched the man's advance with growing animosity. Shinji knew Aoshi had spotted him, but he did not hurry. His steps were evenly paced, sedate and unhurried, all staged to irritate the impassive and collected man he so despised. But when he finally arrived in front of Aoshi, he could tell that Aoshi was not ruffled in the least, and that annoyed him. "Shinomori…" he began. 

Aoshi did not even spare the youth a glance. His eyes remained glassy and unfocused and he showed no sign of having even heard him. That infuriated Shinji, but he curbed his sharp anger quickly, not wanting to show his emotions. 

"I've come to talk about Misao." At the familiar name, Shinomori blinked but he still did not look at Shinji. Swallowing the bitterness and hatred that so rankled his soul, Shinji got down and sat on the floor so he could meet Aoshi's cold eyes. "I've come to find out whether there is anything between the two of you," he went on, careful not to let emotion slip through his words. 

At that, Aoshi's face seemed to tighten and his eyes grow sharply focused. Pleased, Shinji went on," And don't tell me it isn't any of my business, because I love her, and I'm going to marry her." Shinji watched the man's reaction, sure that it would be rewarding, and he was right. Aoshi looked up at Shinji's face to see if he was mocking or teasing and his jaw jumped in his cheek. 

There was a pause, before Aoshi's searching stare finally left Shinji's face and he looked straight ahead, his eyes growing glassy again. "There is nothing between us," he said shortly. Curtly. He seemed to think that those words would explain everything for Shinji, that it would clear the way for Shinji to walk. Was he saying it out of honesty, or out of pure indifference? Shinji didn't trust him either way. 

Dissatisfied with his answer, he prodded further, "But she seems to think highly of you." Aoshi remained silent for a moment, before returning quietly, "Please leave, Shinji-san. You are disturbing my peace." 

Shinji could not believe that the man had the audacity to dismiss him as if he were some insignificant servant. The bitter fury and spite he had harboured for so long spilled out. "Do not ask me to leave without getting my answer! You—" For a moment, he was at a loss for words. He wanted to scream at the man, lose all his composure, shout obscenities and kick his expressionless face in the dirt. 

His mind was screaming for him to complete his sentence, not to leave without throwing biting words Aoshi's way, things that would hurt him—things that would make him lose his calm, goddammit! And yet his legs lifted him up and began walking away, far away from the temple. His fist clenched but did not move. 

And the bitterness and disgust and all the hate embedded within the depths of his soul grew. Shinomori knew I would walk away…and now he thinks I am a coward. Why did I walk away? How could I let him think…without even punching his pretty face… His manly pride had been dealt a harsh blow and Aoshi could be sure that Shinji would not forget this incident anytime soon. 

Meanwhile, Aoshi sat at the temple, unable to meditate further. How could he? Cold emotions he never knew existed trickled down his spine like ice water, they washed over him so completely, drowning him ruthlessly in their cruel revelations. He felt like picking himself up and throwing himself over a tall building, standing up and screaming like a deranged animal, banging his head against the pillar—anything! Anything but just sit there and pretend to meditate. Anything but let his face remain as stoic and unmoved as ever. Was he forever condemned to not being able to show what he felt? 

No! But the instant covering up of any emotion, no matter how slight or unimportant, was so deeply ingrained into his mind, soul and body. It was a part of him now. It was him. He could never do anything else, never be anything else. 

He felt as if someone was ripping out something inside of him. Rip, slash, tear, rip, slash, tear, rip, slash, tear, ripslashtearripslashtearripslashtear. And then the remnants, the shreds that remained of his soul—at least he could depend on them. Soon he was himself again. The sky was dark now. Aoshi didn't know what time it was, didn't care. He got up and started back for the Aoiya. 

"Oshima Sensei! Tomiko-san! Come on in! Everyone's waiting for you!" Okon welcomed in her brightest voice. She, like Misao, did not trust Tomiko one bit, but Oshima Sensei was a good man who had more than once healed the Oniwabanshuu to fighting good health. It was just his luck to have such a daughter. 

Shiro and Kuro had prepared a sumptuous feast and the guests settled down, eager to begin. Only Aoshi, who could not be persuaded to come to the table, was not present. Misao frowned as she rememebered how she had attempted to coax him from his room. "But Aoshi-samaaa! Oshima Sensei is a great man! Remember? He even healed you once—" "Leave me be, Misao." 

His voice was cold, icy, biting. He had often ignored her, rebuffed her, turned her away, but never had he gotten angry with her like that. Misao left biting her lip nervously. She had never known her Aoshi-sama to be like that. Never mind, there was time to cheer him up later. Now she had to concentrate on Shinji and Tomiko. 

"Shin-san! What a pleasure to meet you again! It's been ages since I saw you last!" Tomiko purred, smiling her most alluring smile. Shinji looked at her as if she was a bit weird in the head and said softly, "I was working at the clinic yesterday." That silenced her for a moment and Misao cheered inwardly. 

The meal proceeded well. It wasn't as loud and intimidating as Okina's usual parties, but it was very enjoyable. As a whole. Misao sat at a corner getting drunk, while Shinji and Tomiko engaged in what seemed to be a very amusing and interesting conversation. Okon and Omasu tried to get the girl to leave the sake bottle, but to no avail. Eventually they left her alone. 

What good is it anyway? I can't openly tear Shinji away from her! That would be too bold—and too not-Misao. And besides, why should I care what Shinji does? He's just a friend! Sure, and Tomiko was an innocent girl with no hidden motives behind her grabbing Shinji and chatting him up so animatedly. 

Misao cursed that her bestfriend did not have the sense to leave the sickening lady alone. She cursed that Tomiko was so enchanting and lovely in her new kimono. And most of all, she cursed that she was alone with only the sake bottle for company. 

Aoshi lay back on the futon, his arms pillowing his head. He had a lot of things to think about, things he couldn't solve with meditation. So Shinji did want to marry Misao. He knew the moment he saw him outside with Misao and Okina. He just hadn't wanted to face up to it, to accept it. He always knew that boy was trouble. He had seen a threat in him, a wild streak that refused to be tamed. And Aoshi hated insolence. Lucky for him he had left before he became okashira. 

So what now? Aoshi knew the answer before he even contemplated it. He had known it all along. He would step aside graciously, let Shinji have Misao, and go off quietly to skulk in the shadows like he had always done. Had he ever been in the way of Shinji in the first place? Yes, but through no fault of his own. 

He knew Misao had adored him ever since he first carried her, and rocked her the way her mother taught him to. He knew each time she was there, spying on him when he meditated, when he practised with his kodachi, when he strolled along by himself. It was no surprise that she offered to serve him tea every morning, to try to ease his burden everyday, to offer her gift of sunshine to his darkness. 

But darkness never accepted sunshine. Darkness was cold and unfriendly, and sunshine was not. Misao and him could never be together in the way she wanted. He had always estimated that her "love" for him was but idolism and hero worship, nothing more. After all, what more could one expect from a child? 

Why then, was he so hostile toward Shinji? Why then was he here, trying to figure out what to do? The sunshine had pierced the darkness after all. He doubted she knew—he never showed what he was feeling—but that didn't stop her from trying again. And again. And again. Aoshi never minded her sunny effervescence, youthful idealism and contagious vivacity. In fact, he, on more than one occasion, had welcomed it. 

So he loved her, after all. Not as a brother, not as a father, not as a former okashira, not as anything. It was a quiet realization, maybe more of a confession than a realization. After all, he had known it all along. He just didn't act on it. And was he supposed to, now? Aoshi smiled bitterly. He had the answer, once again. He'd had the answers all along. They were just waiting for him, in the back of his mind, to be called out. 

No. No, again and again. This time no excuses came into it. No "she is but a child" or "I'm too old" or even "we could never be together." The chains holding him back were as black and white as paint is on bamboo scrolls. She loved Shinji, and he loved her. But how could he be sure? He could never be sure. 

His stomach felt like a dull bottomless chasm. Suddenly he felt desperately in need of assurance. That Misao loved him, that she didn't just worship him, and that she didn't love Shinji. He jumped up from the futon and slammed the door open and shut as he left. He would go to the party after all. He walked swiftly, his long legs striding with determination. He would find out tonight. 

As he rounded a corner and came to the dining area, the familiar sound of Okina's cheerful partying reached his ears. Too bad he wasn't going to join in the festivities tonight. He was about to enter, when he heard a woman's peal of laughter. It wasn't Misao's… Changing his mind, he leaned against the wall and peeked inside the room. 

The scene that greeted his eyes wasn't welcoming at all. 

Shinji was having a good time with a girl he didn't know. A very good time. His eyes scanned the room for Misao and they darkened when he saw her against a wall, the sake bottle at her side. There was an air of despondence about her, despair and misery that hung over her and wouldn't go away. 

His expression turned grim. Misao wasn't meant to be like this. She was so happy just now when she'd attempted to persuade him to join the party. And then the slow fury that was building up at Shinji gave way a sudden cold realization that filled him with dread, pain and such unbearable hurt. So she loved him after all. 

After everything, it was true. She loved him. He loved her. They would marry soon. Of course, he told himself bitterly. You've just been deluding yourself. There could never be anything more than what was in their relationship. She had woken up, forgotten her admiration for Aoshi-sama and had a new man in her life. 

And she deserved it. Shinji was a good man, Aoshi grudgingly admit. Despite the fact that he flirted a little too openly—he would do something about that later. Yes, he would stop Shinji from hurting Misao so openly. 

But he would never interfere in their relationship, intentionally or unintentionally. He would leave, after the wedding. It was best—for everyone. He turned away from the scene, something catching in his throat. A deep sound that rumbled from the depths of his soul now found its way to his lips. 

And then an unfamiliar ache began to rage at his throat. A slow warmth filled his eyes. He had forgotten how good it was… 

To cry. 

Notes: I'm sorry A/M fans! I guess Aoshi crying was pretty weird. But I wanted him to do something drastic for once, and show how he was feeling because this was so important to him…ya know? And also, I'm really sorry I didn't do much about character development for Shinji. OKAY, I didn't do anything. I just didn't have time and I just wanted everything done quickly without lingering too much over new characters. 

  



	3. Part Three: Of The Heart

Conflicts by Charlene 

Part Three: Of the Heart 

Standard disclaimers apply 

The winter here's cold, and bitter/it's chilled us to the bone/we haven't seen the sun for weeks/to long too far from home/I feel just like I'm sinking/and I claw for solid ground/I'm pulled down by the undertow/I never thought I could feel so low/oh darkness I feel like letting go/if all of the strength and all of the courage/come and lift me from this place/I know I could love you much better than this/full of grace/full of grace/my love/so it's better this way I said/having seen this place before/where everything we said/and did hurts us all the more/it's just that we stayed too long/in the same old sickly skin/I'm pulled down by the undertow/I never thought I could feel so low/oh darkness I feel like letting go—Sarah McLachlan's "Full of Grace" 

Shinji smiled as he trotted toward his room. It had been a good party. He wondered why Misao was in such low spirits, though. He had wanted to cheer her up but Tomiko-san was taking up all of his time. He didn't mind, but he didn't encourage it. Flirting was something he was familiar with, and to him, it was just a harmless mindless way of showing one's affections. 

And Tomiko was a beautiful woman, he had to admit. Not as beautiful as his Misao though, he smiled as a warm glow spread through his heart. His Misao. It felt good to say that. She would not be his for a long time though. 

Shinji was a patient man. He could wait for as long as he thought she needed. After all, hadn't he waited seven years? And Omasu had been right after all. He was glad she had come to see him that night. 

She had showed him the truth: that Misao could never be bound or caught against her will. She was a wild exotic animal—he couldn't afford to take chances. And so he would bide his time. After all, he had plenty of it if what Aoshi said was true. 

But deep inside him, a sneaking suspicion told him that it wasn't. Aoshi had an uncrackable impregnable mask, but so did Shinji—when he wanted to. He could tell when a man was lying and when he was not. And Aoshi was definitely lying when he said there was nothing between him and Misao. 

Yet somehow, even though he didn't believe him, he knew that Aoshi would no longer pose a threat to his winning Misao. Swordsman intuition? One could never tell… He entered his dark room which was unlit. 

He glanced up sharply. There was someone else in the room—he could sense his ki. There! His eyes grew slowly accustomed to the dark, and they focused on a lean figure leaning against the wall, arms folded. Aoshi. 

"Yes?" he bit out harshly. Aoshi looked up. "Takeshi." Although it was dark and Shinji could barely see, he did not miss the menacing glint in the older man's eyes as he stepped forward. And although he would rather die than admit it, Aoshi's hostility scared him. He realized that a single bead of sweat had found its way down his forehead. 

"Did you enjoy…tonight?" Aoshi's voice was dangerously soft and he punctuated "tonight" by taking a threatening step toward the boy. Shinji found himself wanting to take a step back, but he didn't. He wouldn't give Aoshi the satisfaction of seeing his fear. 

"What's it to you?" he snapped, his fear growing at the sight of Aoshi's set jaw and blank stare. To any other person, his stare might have meant nothing, but to a fellow swordsman, it meant resolved enmity and no mercy. A cool warning that he would have no qualms about slicing his enemy's head off in the next moment. 

Aoshi ignored him. "Who was that pretty girl you were with, huh Takeshi? You know, the one that you spent the whole party with…what was her name?" Aoshi knew his words had hit home. Shinji froze and his eyes turned coldly hard. "Shut up. There is nothing between us." He could not believe that Aoshi would use such a lousy excuse to threaten him. Tomiko was the woman you flirt with, not the woman you marry. 

Now Aoshi fell silent. The two men glowered at each other for a long moment, before Aoshi tore his eyes off the detestable face and warned quietly, "Do not hurt her, Takeshi. Don't even think about it." He had no need to prove that he meant what he said. He knew that Shinji understood. 

Shinji watched the man stride past him out of the room, his eyes burning with hot fury. Never had Shinji felt so intensely hateful toward a fellow human being. He wished to jump behind him and stab him. He wished to be able to tear his throat out and watch him plead for mercy. Every nerve in his body tingled with the strongly awakened rage that had remained dormant for years. Watch your back you bastard…I swear I'll get you… 

Two months had passed since Shinji first arrived at the Aoiya. Misao sat alone in her room, idly contemplating the fast approaching autumn. She liked autumn. It reminded her that there was always the new to replace the old, that eventually all things would disappear, that nothing was forever. 

Many things had happened since that night at the party. Suddenly everything had changed before Misao had realized it. Shinji was still his friendly approachable self, but there was something different about him now. The way he looked at her sometimes when he thought nobody was looking, the way he always volunteered to accompany her on small errands that she could easily run on her own. 

He made her uncomfortable. Misao was not used to being admired, much less flirted with. Love, to her, had always seemed a one-sided thing. She had been admiring someone throughout her entire life. Never had she expected or realized that love was two-sided and that someone could admire her and watch her the way she had always done to her Aoshi-sama. Now she understood how uncomfortable she made him feel. 

Aoshi had changed too. So drastically, in fact, that no one could tell he was the same person. He had withdrawn even further into his shell, and he allowed no one inside it. Misao couldn't even serve him tea any longer. He isolated himself so from the others it was frightening and disturbing. 

She felt helpless, as she watched him slip through her fingers like sand. He was dissolving before her eyes. No longer was he the Aoshi she had loved and respected throughout her childhood, and neither was he the Aoshi who had hired his Oniwabanshuu out to that evil Takeda Kanryuu, nor the one who was so brutally beaten both inside and out by Himura. He hardly seemed to even be Aoshi anymore. 

I could help you if you let me, but you wouldn't. You won't even look at me anymore, much less acknowledge what I say. So what can I do to lessen your load? Nothing. And what can I say to lighten your mood? Nothing. Never, not even after Haanya's and the others' deaths, or even after your defeat by Himura, have I see you so alone. 

And somehow, underneath all the troubling thoughts, Misao knew that Aoshi could never be comforted simply with words or actions. He was fighting some strange non-existent battle that only he could conquer, and it hardly seemed likely that he ever would. But Misao had never lost faith in her Aoshi-sama before, and she wasn't about to. 

She would not give up on him no matter how he kept himself away from her and the others. She would find him again, and bring him back, for hadn't it been her duty to make him smile again? Himura had entrusted him with her and she could not fail him. No. For his sake and for hers. And for Haanya, Beshimi, Shikijou and Hyottoko. They loved Aoshi as she did, and they would never want it to end like this. Never. 

"Misao?" A hesitant voice dispersed her thoughts. "Yes?" she started, turning around to see Shinji at the door, looking sheepish that he had disrupted her peace. "Sorry, are you busy?" Misao smiled brightly and shook her head. She wasn't about to burden another with her dark depressing thoughts. 

"I thought that we would go down to the stream and take a swim—it's such a beautiful day," he suggested hopefully. Misao's mood considerably lightened. A swim! What a perfect idea! She nodded happily. Trust Shinji to come up with something to cheer her up in her darker moments. 

Before long, the pair were at the stream—a soft silvery path of water that welcomed, cooled and refreshed. It shimmered in the welcoming heat of the autumn sun and the sparkling ripples beckoned enchantingly to Misao's nature-loving side. 

Misao marveled at how changed the stream was. She hadn't swum since…well, since Aoshi-sama and the others had left her with Okina at the Aoiya when she was eight. She didn't realize how much she missed swimming until now. "Shinji!" she cried, startling him. He took one look into her sparkling azure eyes and melted. 

"Thank you—so much! This is so great!" Before he knew it, she had jumped into the stream shrieking with childish delight. For a moment he was stunned. Misao had such lovely eyes…oh god, not so early in the morning. 

He jumped in with her and treaded water as he watched Misao squeal as she rediscovered a part of her lost over the years he had been away. He couldn't help grinning as she grinned—he was so fond of her. 

Shinji looked on, amused and at the same time amazed. He was amused that Misao's childish spirit had withstood all the years and that she was the same easily excitable spirit he had always known and loved her to be. That was what had drawn him to her since the very beginning. She had a contagious enthusiastic nature about her, and the best thing was, that she had no idea of her own attractiveness.

On the other hand, he was amazed that Misao, the tomboyish outlandish Misao he used to know, had grown up to be a fine young lady. Sure, she insisted on not wearing a kimono, but that didn't make her any less attractive to him. Her fine black hair had grown into a thick and glossy braid, and her eyes had grown so remarkably blue that he had almost not been able to recognize her when he saw her on the porch that day. 

As Misao admired the river, Shinji admired her and for a moment, there was an eloquent silence surrounding the stream, wreathing it in an almost tangible mist of sensitivity. 

Misao gasped as the freezing waves caressed her skin. She giggled as she felt some weeds brush ticklishly against her legs. She felt so rejuvenated, just as if she was seven all over again. "Remember when we used to swim here? You always wanted to be the shark but you couldn't swim well enough to surprise me," Shinji reminisced aloud. He had no idea he was touching on one of Misao's fondest most treasured memories. "So you always had to be the mermaid." 

Misao's eyes grew misty with remembrances. "Yeah…and no matter how hard I tried, I could never grab your leg under the water and pull you below without you noticing me and grabbing me first. I never wanted to be the mermaid, you know…" she sighed softly. "You can be the shark today," Shinji said suddenly. 

Misao's eyes gleamed. "Really? You mean it?" He nodded solemnly. "Alright!" Misao yelled. "I'll get you this time…close your eyes and count to ten!" Shinji obliged, and Misao swam off slowly, careful not to let tell-tale ripples reach Shinji. She would come from behind. He would never catch her this time! 

When Shinji finished counting and opened his eyes, Misao had submerged as he had expected. The stream was quiet and undisturbed as if she had left. But Shinji knew better. He was highly experienced and skilled at "Sharks and Mermaids". He scanned the surface around him for tell-tale bubbles. Misao was terrible at holding her breath. 

But there were none. Shinji was puzzled. Could Misao still be underwater? Or had she run off and hid to play a joke on him? 

Before he had time to ponder over it, he felt a sharp pull on his left leg. Misao! She grabbed him asunder and he only had time to gasp and swallow a gallon of water. "Arg!" he grunted as he flailed his arms, trying to keep afloat. And then her lilting light laugh. She was laughing at him. But he didn't mind. He loved her laugh. 

And he loved her. 

He didn't deliberate. Her sweet laughter had faded when she saw his face. Confusion, slight panic and bewilderment flashed through her blue eyes as he moved nearer. He was in a trance, all he knew was that he had to be closer to her, that he had to… 

Kiss me? But—why…? 

And Shinji kissed her fully, softly, gently. Misao could not describe the storm of emotions that descended upon her so suddenly. Was this what Omasu called desire? The girl felt so swallowed in the tempest of feelings that she could not help but kiss him back. Once, twice, and then she felt him pulling away. 

And she found she did not want him to. How to describe the empowering sweetness that swept over her? She didn't want to speak, for fear it would break the spell. Shinji would become Shinji again, and she would be Misao. And the words would be like cold slaps in her face. Never had she dreaded reality so. 

Why had he pulled away? Hadn't he wanted this all his life? Yes, and she had too. He knew now. The way she had responded to his kiss, the answering glimmer of warmth in her eyes. Do you feel it too? Yes. Yes, yes! 

"Misao, marry me." There. He'd said it. Out loud. He wouldn't hide it any longer. This was his last chance. And if she refused, he would walk away from her. And he would never come near her again. He had tried, over the past two months, how he had tried! And if she didn't want him now, she never would. Now or never.

Shinji's gaze was unwavering, steady even as he watched Misao's eyes blaze with fear and confusion. His heart contracted painfully when he saw her face go white, her eyes swim with blue grey mist. Would she say no? What would he say if she did? What could he do? No! She must never say no! Shinji felt like if he didn't grab on to something, he would be lost in the sea of emotions washing over him. He chose Misao's shoulders as a support and grasped them tightly. "Misao!" his strangled voice rang out. 

So tightly weaved through his choked out words was fear, fear that Misao had never seen in a man before. It wasn't fear of rejection anymore, no—far more than that. Now. It was fear of…loss? Wait. What was this? How could she explain how much his words meant? Did he realize what he was saying? Did he mean what he was saying at all? Panic and desperation gripped her mercilessly. 

The consternation in her soul showed openly on her face. Misao had never been able to hide any of her emotions before—she had no need to. All she had ever felt were sunny feelings, warm feelings, feelings that had nothing to do with dark, hate, fear and the unknown. Feelings that she had no need to hide from anyone. But, god, she wished she could hide them now. 

She couldn't bring herself to utter a word, much less make a sound. She couldn't cry, she couldn't laugh. She couldn't do anything. He watched her, slow realization spreading through his body like cold fire. So…here it is? Her big answer? The answer you longed for all your life? 

Misao knew it had to be her to break the silence. She only wished she knew how to. The river around had suddenly grown silent. The water around her was deathly cold. Misao shuddered both inside and out. 

With awkward diffidence, she stumbled out her answer, "Shinji. Let's go back now. It's getting late." 

"Aoshi-sama." Aoshi turned at the sound of Misao's voice. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he last heard her addressing him. That was all his fault, of course. He had kept away from her, for obvious reasons. 

And now, as he heard her step inside the room and slide the door shut, he realized that he had forgotten how good it felt to be able to be around her, to watch her. Two months earlier, at least he could hide behind his mask and a nice hot cup of tea, and sit back to silently let his gaze linger over her graceful delicate movements. Now—huh, he could laugh. He doubted he had even seen her at all the past week. 

It was strange that she had suddenly decided to confront him. To find out why he had been acting so indifferent? To pull one of her ridiculous clown acts in an attempt to "cheer him up"? Misao, you have no idea… 

"What," he said quietly. He didn't even turn around to acknowledge her presence. Misao accepted that—what else could she do? Aoshi wasn't Aoshi anymore, Shinji wasn't Shinji anymore, and now Misao hardly seemed to even be Misao anymore. 

"I wanted to tell you—that I…" Now that she had come, the words seemed to stick in her throat. What did she want? Oh yeah. She wanted Aoshi to give some good old big-brotherly advice. She wanted him to tell her what to do, what to say to Shinji. 

But was that it? Was that really why she had come? Misao stopped. That was new. And she sighed resignedly. Yes, she had come running to him, filled with hope and trust that he would become that Aoshi she knew and loved so well, and that he would take her in his arms and comfort her, just like he always did when there was a storm. And now that Misao had discovered just how many types of storms existed in the world, he had grown icy and brooding. Yes, she had come for love. 

And, once again, she had not found it. 

"I came," she swallowed. "For advice." He made no sign that he had heard her, and Misao wished desperately that she could see his face. After what seemed like eternity, his voice came back to her, "On what?" 

"I—Shinji—I wanted to come to you, because Okon and Omasu would be all wrong! They would urge me to marry him because he is rich and good-looking, and they would start going on about wedding preparations and Okina would be worse! I can't go to Shiro or Kuro, and so you—there was only you," she finished lamely. She was vaguely aware that she had been stumbling on incoherently, but somehow it didn't seem to matter. Not anymore anyway. 

And so the time had come. He bowed his head in quiet surrender. He did not want to play games any longer. He did not want to deceive her. He had known of Shinji's intentions long before she had, and he was only sorry Shinji had sprung it up on her so tactlessly. It was Misao's decision, after all, and he had sworn never to interfere in their relationship again. "Misao…" he began in a low reproaching tone. 

"No! Listen to me! You're going to ask me why I'm still thinking over it! Why I'm not tripping over myself to get the wedding over and done with! And the answer is I never loved him and I never will. And I think—you know how important love means to me. To commit myself in this way—is to deny myself the very essence of life! Aoshi, you of all people, please! Tell me what to do!" 

Aoshi could not ignore the poor girl's distraught plea—she sounded so heart rendingly earnest. And yet—his face hardened. No, how many times do you have to remind yourself not to get involved! "Misao. This is not a matter that concerns me. Talk to someone else." 

Misao trembled, unable to believe that this was Aoshi speaking to her. His tone was not particularly cutting or biting, but his words sure were. They seared right through her heart. This was her marriage—for goodness' sake! And he wouldn't even spare her a few minutes of his time. 

Perhaps—she had been foolish, to ever believe that he would be remotely interested. He had never taken an interest in her in the first place. It was she, who so shamelessly threw herself at him, repeatedly deluded herself that she was getting through to him, that she would ever have a single chance to penetrate the— 

Misao could not remain in the room a moment longer. She was too choked up, too stifled. Pivoting on her heels, she dashed out of the room, half hysterical, half calm and composed. Inwardly she was screaming for comprehension, for understanding and enlightenment. Why was he being like this?! Why was he being such a heartless, unfeeling bastard? WHY?! 

Inside, Aoshi stood up and paused for a while, trying to let everything flow out of him. She would forget in time…this was all for her sake—couldn't she see? No, he guessed she couldn't. He went to his futon and lay down to rest. 

As Misao hurried to her room, she tried hard not to think. Thinking only hurt her head right now, and she needed a clear mind if she was going to sort things out later and give Shinji a truthful answer. She didn't know if it would be the answer he wanted, or even an answer she herself wanted. But there had to be an answer and to delay giving it would be a fool's thing to do. 

She knew that if she did not give her answer soon, things would get complicated between her and Shinji and no way did she want that to happen. Why, oh why, did you have to complicate matters so? Misao wondered tearfully. And yet a small part of her was rejoicing in the fact that she actually had a chance with one of the two men in her life, even if he had changed so much. 

And what about Aoshi? She could not forget him no matter what. She loved him with a love that burned from the depths of her soul. She had never expected him to reciprocate, wanted him to, yes, but never expected. And now, she yearned more than ever for his quiet guidance, his wise advice…his soft comforting. And he had denied her even that. 

He always did know how to comfort her when there was a thunderstorm. As a child, her biggest fear was of the deafening claps of thunder during a storm and the merciless pelting of rain on the poor ground. A storm meant destruction, darkness and the sinister, ominous unknown. Misao adored everything that had light and it was only natural that she was light herself. And light is always afraid of the dark. And yet… 

Why do I love you so much Aoshi? She thought miserably. You are dark, shadowy and I am bright and sunny. Even a fool can tell that things would never work out between us. And yet I was and am still so blind. You are the shadow that blinds me from the reality that it is and always will be hopeless for us. 

Suddenly, a flash of lightning lit the room with its vicious glare. Misao jumped. A thunderstorm… 

It was too much for her to bear. Misao had always prided herself on being a strong, brave soul, but now she crumpled onto the floor and surrendered to the tears that had threatened her since the beginning. 

Aoshi awoke to a loud clap of thunder. Outside, the heavy destruction of the quiet began, as the storm slammed heavy sheets of ruthless rain which drove hard into the poor, soft, defenceless ground. How ironic…he mused bitterly. 

Inside his mind, a memory jolted him. Misao, crying inconsolably, Haanya trying desperately to soothe her and stop her deafening wails, Beshimi and the others putting up ridiculous clown acts in an attempt to distract her from the onslaught of the thunderstorm. But all failing miserably. Misao, Misao, how you managed to get four grown warriors fussing over you is still a mystery to me. He smiled fondly, as the memories came back quickly to him now, of all the times Misao hid and shied away from the storms and all that was dark. Of all that held the danger of the unknown. 

"Aoshi-sama…" came the muffled tearful voice of a little girl, usually fearless of everything, but now, as meek as a mouse. "Yes, Misao?" Aoshi got up to slide open the door, ready for the onslaught of tears he was expecting. He was right. "Aoshi-samaaaa!" the girl wailed and threw herself into his arms. 

She immediately began sobbing, the hiccupy unstoppable sobs of a frightened little girl. Aoshi sighed. "Misao, how many times do I have to tell you…thunderstorms do not hurt anyone. In fact, they help us by providing water so those lovely flowers we grow outside can become larger and grow more beautiful." 

But the girl was not content with his explanation. "But why must it be so dark and loud and scaryyy?" she whined, snuggling into Aoshi's warm arms. Aoshi let the corners of his mouth lift slightly. "To support the light, there must always be dark. Dark and light. It is not all light as you see it, Misao." 

"Nani?" little Misao was confused. "What light and dark? I thought we were talking about thunderstorms, Aoshi-sama"—then squealed as another clap of thunder frightened her out of her wits. Aoshi rubbed her back to placate her and said softly in a comforting, soothing voice, "We are, Misao." 

Aoshi sighed as his thoughts were scattered by yet another deafening boom of thunder. Such times were taken from him now…he could never show what he felt around Misao any longer…indeed, time had been cruel and relentless. 

Suddenly getting up, he decided that he needed to be distracted from his everlasting thoughts of Misao, of both the past and present. He would take a walk around the Aoiya and then come back and rest, he decided. The rain, refreshing and cool on his skin would wake him up and give him peace from the inner struggles and turmoil that so tormented him each time he thought of Misao and Shinji. 

With a sudden lift of heart, Aoshi slid open his door and padded across the floors slowly and quietly so as not to wake anyone. Aoshi tossed the thoughts out of his mind with the freezing wind the storm brought, and felt himself relax. He was beginning to feel more like he used to, before Shinji's arrival. 

Mindful only of the cool breeze and ever constant drumming of rain on the roof and ground, Aoshi didn't realize where he was heading to, until he found himself outside of Misao's room. And a familiar sound reached his ears, intertwined with the steady rhythmic song of the rain. 

Misao's crying, just like when she was a little girl. But she wasn't a little girl anymore, and Aoshi had no right to comfort and placate her like he used to. And besides, he knew why she was crying and there wasn't anything he could do about it. It was he who had made her cry after all. 

But a sudden heart-breaking gasp twisted Aoshi's heart as Misao began gulping with a fresh torrent of tears. He stopped. It would be stupid to enter her room, to encourage her, and renew her hopes of there ever being anything between the both of them…but Aoshi ignored the warnings for once and slid the door open quietly.

It was like he was in a trance and his body was paying no heed to what his mind was screaming out to him. Somehow, it had been impossible to ignore Misao's heart-wrenching sobs when she was a little girl, and now, when she was a woman. Perhaps it was the suddenness of the whole thing, the insecurity he'd felt when he saw her with Shinji, the troubling importance of recent matters…whatever it was, Aoshi found himself following the sound of Misao's misery as if in a hypnotic trance. 

"Misao…" he began hesitantly, his voice not quite steady. 

Misao shuddered at the tenderness of his voice, a voice which once filled her young heart with warmth and comfort and love. Now, it simply filled her with dread, fear and hopelessness. She was tired. So tired after hearing what Shinji had to say. She had no idea that things could escalate to such a level. 

She was but a child, not ready for such a huge matter like marriage. And, although she knew that most girls her age were already married or at least engaged, Misao knew it would all be wrong for her. Besides, she didn't want anything to get in the way of her and Aoshi. She knew, had known, a long time ago that it would always be the same between them. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to stop hoping. 

Hope, such a dangerous hurtful emotion. Always gleaming with the chance for better things, beautiful dreams and memories to come true. But they never did…did they… "Misao," said the voice again, persistently. Misao heaved a ragged sigh and swabbed at her face with the back of her hand. What did he want now? Hadn't he had enough of torturing her? Why won't you leave me alone? Why won't you stop trying to hurt me again and again? 

Misao mentally shook herself and brought herself back to the present. "Yes Aoshi-sama?" she replied, too exhausted to hide anything. She had never had to lie or to put up a front to her Aoshi-sama—he knew her inside out. But it was different now. Everything had changed before her helpless eyes as if she was just a watcher standing there, unable to do a single thing to stop the vicious cycle of time.

"Why are you crying?"

Panic and desperation swamped her, rendering her senseless. Misao didn't know what to say. She had to lie to him! And yet she could not. She searched fervently for words, trying to claw on to anything that vaguely resembled an excuse for crying—anything! She didn't want him to know it was him who was troubling her, it was him who was hurting her so.

And yet he knew. 

She could see it clearly as he stepped forward, sat down beside her and put his arm around her slender shoulders. So simple, so casual the action, but it encompassed the most exquisite emotions for Misao. She drew her breath shakily at the closeness of him. He was close enough to touch… 

For Aoshi, everything seemed ridiculously surreal. Calling her name in the storm didn't seem to be real, putting his arm around her didn't seem to be real, and now—now, as he leant forward to kiss her—that didn't seem real either. 

Was he truly doing it? He watched as Misao's face came closer and closer, nearer and nearer. She was so near he could see every detail of her porcelain complexion clearly, her eyes glimmering tremulously even in the harsh darkness of the raw twilight. 

A crash of thunder rolled across the belly of the sky with a loud imperious roar. And then quiet. Misao's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. She didn't want to look, and she didn't want to resist. Yet, as seconds rolled by like hours, and nothing happened, Misao knew there was nothing to resist. He had backed away from her. Again. His arm had left her shoulder. He had left her side. He was at the door, when he heard a plaintive cry, hurt mingling sharply with strangled wanting. 

"Why? Why do you run away from me again? You're always teasing me and running away—this is not a game, it ceased to be a long time ago! Why do you continue torturing me? Do you hate me so? Why? I've done nothing to make you hate me—have I? I have always wanted your happiness—even my own did not matter when it came to your happiness. Nothing else matters when it comes to you—and yet, WHY?" 

Misao stopped, unable to go on. The ceaseless rain swept away wildly, before a long lamentable blast of cold wind licked maliciously at its surroundings with icy tongues. Suddenly she felt so completely unutterably vulnerable. At the door, Aoshi's eyes glazed over with something very much like pain. And then the mask fell into place—as it always did, and his face was closed from her again. 

He made a sudden jerky motion, as if to leave, but Misao would not, could not let him. "NO!" she cried out, as if her life depended on his departure. 

"Forget me, Misao. There is nothing between us and there never will be." And he left, the crushing words forming a huge unbridgeable chasm between them in his wake. They rang again and again in Misao's ears. Where were her tears now, when she needed them most? She could not cry, and yet she yearned so much for the familiar heady sensation of the pain falling away from her in crystal clear drops. 

Notes: Yeah, people. Say it with me: Aoshi is an asshole, Aoshi is an asshole… 

  



	4. Part Four: Of The Soul

Conflicts by Charlene 

Part Four: Of the Soul 

Standard disclaimers apply 

What ravages of spirit/conjured this temptuous rage/created you a monster/broken by the ruler of love/and fate has led you through it/you do what you have to do/I'm ever swiftly moving/trying to escape this desire/the yearning to be near you/I do what I have to do/ a glowing ember/burning hot/burning slow/deep within I'm shaken by the violence/of existing for only you/I know I can't be with you/I do what I have to do/and I have sense to recognize but/I don't know how to let you go—Sarah McLachlan's "Do What you Have To Do" 

"Where's the food? And what about the decorations? We can't have a wedding without decorations! And sake? Don't tell me you forgot sake?" barked an extremely flustered Okina, darting from place to place to ensure that things were running smoothly. It was a busy day at the Aoiya. Misao and Shinji were getting married. 

Misao looked on dully as Okina fussed over the preparations. She had never felt so out of it before. She didn't feel like she was taking part in everything that was going on now, didn't even feel like she was there. 

She was clad in a splendid white kimono which Okon and Omasu had so enthusiastically picked out for her. Her braid was gone and her ebony hair was untied, falling down her back in lustrous tresses. "I'll tie it later," Omasu had promised. "Right now, I have to go and appease Mr Bossy over there"—gesturing to Okina who was shouting orders every which way. 

Misao barely acknowledged her. She knelt before a large mirror, staring at herself. Yet one could tell she was not really looking, her eyes were glazed over, sightless—unseeing. 

It is a beautiful morning. The sun is shining, there is no sign of rain, and not a hint of a bad omen has dared shown its face. I am going to be married today. To Takeshi Shinji, a man who is handsome and intelligent and rich. A man whom I know will support me for the rest of my life. A man who loves me. 

Her eyes grew focused, and she lifted a trembling hand up to her face. It was pale and colourless, not only because of the makeup Okon had insisted upon, but also because she felt no life within her. No warmth to colour her cheeks, and no blood to warm her freezing cold. It wasn't a real cold, it was a dull throbbing cold. It was a cold that had filled her ever since she had given her answer to Shinji. It was a cold that permeated her being entirely. Would it ever go away? No, she didn't suppose it would. 

Her complexion was flawlessly perfect, not a blemish imperfected her silky white skin. Normally, Misao would have been delighted, but now the perfection only served to irritate her. What to do about it… 

Misao glanced down at the table and noticed several gilded hairpins glinting, winking at her enticingly in the sunlight. She reached down and picked one up slowly, staring at it as if it held some sort of powerful spell over her. Every movement slow and deliberate, Misao gently brought the pin to her face. 

There was no pain, only a sickening sense of heightening accomplishment. She watched, entranced, as harsh red stained the creamy white and both blurred into a watery painting before her eyes. 

"MISAO!" 

The pin was snatched from her trembling fingers, and the wound dabbed swiftly with Omasu's own kimono sleeve. 

Misao felt her face being rubbed raw, and realized that the blood had been mixed with tears. Had she been crying? "Misao-chan! What were you doing?" Omasu wailed, her voice betraying her shock and disbelief. She was quaking with the tremendous horror she had witnessed. When Misao did not answer, Omasu could not bring herself to say another word. She did not dress the wound—it was only a light graze, but still— 

"I wish I could dress every wound inside of you," she murmured quietly. At that, Misao looked up. Omasu could not bear to see her expression. 

And suddenly, Misao was hit by the realization of what she had been doing to herself mere seconds earlier. She had been trying to disfigure herself. She looked up in horror, and when she saw Omasu, she felt as if she had been dealt a great blow. What am I doing to myself? Have I gone crazy? 

"I can hide it—I've got some powder—" Omasu comforted. Misao sat meekly, as Omasu dabbed at the self-inflicted scratch. And then she waited, as her glossy hair was twisted up into a perfect top knot. Perfect, again. Everything was perfect. 

"I'll wait with you—the ceremony will start soon," Omasu said, not daring to leave Misao alone for even a few minutes. Misao did not answer. 

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE NOT STAYING?!" Okina bellowed. Aoshi shot a withering glance in his direction and his lips curled in cold disdain. "Okina, it would be pointless. And besides I have things to do," he muttered to the ground. 

"WHAT THINGS?!" Okina yelled. What the hell was this bastard trying to pull? He wondered in irritation. Didn't he know that Aoshi was the person Misao most wanted there, with the possible exception of Shinji? 

Aoshi sighed in exasperation. Why couldn't Okina understand? How could he be there? He couldn't even bear watching Misao and Shinji together, much less witness their eternal love pledges to each other. It was all he could do to resist the strong urges to step forward and tear Shinji apart with his kodachi. 

"Okina. Just—just leave me be, okay?" he got up, ready to go, when a blow so swift it would have been deadly if used with a weapon slammed into his stomach. "That's for Misao," Okina said coldly. Aoshi clutched his abdomen and grunted in pain. "You cold unfeeling bastard. You can keep your emotions to yourself—do whatever you like. But I won't let you hurt her." 

Aoshi watched, still cringing from the pain, as Okina stalked off. He felt a quiet sense of respect for the old man. Okina had always been a man who stood up for what he believed was right. And he most usually was right. Just that time…that time when he persuaded Aoshi to become the okashira. 

Being the okashira of the Oniwabanshuu had completely turned his life around. He had loved the heady excitement of being the leader, giving orders and being able to trust his comrades with the completion of the tasks. He loved being in control, and also being kept on his toes all the time—driving all notions of his inability to perform as a leader out of every man's mind. 

But it had also weakened him inside. God, it had torn him apart, completely destroyed what they called his soul. Emotions, feelings tormented him and yet he was forever unable to show them, even when he longed to. Sometimes he questioned himself, even tried to force himself to express his feelings. But other times, he depended on this for his very life. Without it, he would have nothing to hold on to, to support him when all else had failed him. When Haanya and the others had been shot down like mere dogs, it was this that had held him together both in the mind and body. And what of his soul? Not being able to show feelings had deceived him, taught him that his soul was of minor importance, and would weaken him. 

But Battousai had shown him the complete opposite. The ruthless onslaught of words he threw at him twisted his insides, made him feel nothing but disgust and hatred for himself. "You used their deaths as an excuse!" he had accused, and he was right. Everything he said was right. And after that, when Battousai—no, Himura, had defeated him, he had lain on the floor, a great sense of failure and loss swallowing him. 

No words could remotely describe what he'd felt—and still felt, about that fight. Himura, you have changed my life, and you have also destroyed it. How easily you toss people around with your words, how easily you surmount the odds with your will to live and your determination not to kill. You took ten years to find your answer, and now you have changed from a cruel murderer to one of the greatest men I know. 

And would he find his answer also? Aoshi felt an acute pang of aching loss. He would never know the answer to that now, would he… 

He would stay, after all. For the wedding. 

"The bridegroom is here!" yelled Okina, his good spirits restored. Shinji arrived in a burst of noise, together with a few of his family and friends. "Haru-san!" Okina greeted jovially. Haru, Shinji's father and Shiro's uncle, had been a good friend of Okina's back when everyone was still part of the Oniwabanshuu. 

The two men embraced each other welcomingly, and when the introductions and greetings had been made, Okina sent Kuro to Misao's room to tell her of the arrival of her husband-to-be. 

"Misao-chan! Omasu-san! The groom is here!" Kuro roared as he announced his arrival with a clumsy crash of the doors. Omasu looked up and gave him a small smile. "We'll be right there," she assured him. Kuro nodded, his eyes softening as they settled on the hunched slender figure at the mirror. 

"Misao, it's your wedding day. Smile and be happy, if not for your sake, then for your groom's," Omasu urged mildly. Misao heard the parental fondness, the gentle yearning, the high hopes that every parent had for their child, in Omasu's voice and felt tears spring to her eyes. She had been selfish. 

"Yes, Omasu," she choked. Omasu put her arm around the girl's shoulders and guided her to the front of the Aoiya, where a shrine had been specially constructed for the wedding. A priest was waiting together with his assistants. Shinji and his family, friends. Okina and her family. Everyone smiling encouragingly. 

Faces swam into a blur as she made her way gracefully toward the shrine. It was a play and she was a puppet. She didn't even notice that Omasu had left her. She searched for a face—the face, but she could not find it. Nothing seemed familiar to her anymore. 

When she took her place by Shinji's side, she gave an answering smile to him. The priest carried out a ritual reporting to the elders the marriage, and requesting for their lasting favours and blessings on the newly-weds. The words blended together into an unintelligible mess, and Misao smiled faintly, nodded as he addressed her. 

Then they were walking—to where? The sanctuary. Shinji's arm was protectively slipped around her waist. They offered twigs of "Sakaki" sacred tree in worship to the gods. Misao never hesitated, never faltered, she knew each and every step of the routine. Finally, merry cheers resounded as toasts of sake were made, and gay congratulatory exclamations filled the air. The harsh cacophony they made hurt her ears. 

But she didn't mind. 

She had been smiling the whole day now, smiling until her cheeks hurt. People assumed she was happy, joyful, on top of the world. She was charming, with delightful manners and exquisite beauty. The perfect bride. When people leant towards her to offer their congratulations, she accepted with a rapturous smile and dazzling manners. The perfect bride. She enchanted guests with her lively disposition, her youthfulness and returned Shinji's kiss good-naturedly in front of everyone. The perfect bride. 

Were they wrong? 

Perhaps, because as she returned back, not to her own room, but to Shinji's room in his own home, she found she had fooled even herself. The emptiness, hollowness of the whole act weighed her down as she returned her husband's smile shyly. She realized that she felt plastic both inside and out, as she let him untie her obi. The mirthlessness of her soul overwhelmed her as her kimono fell to her feet in the darkness. 

The perfect bride. 

Shinji reclined in the basking warmth of the morning. Today was the first day in a long time he had looked up at the sun and not felt a yearning tug of the heart strings. Misao was his. For so long he had waited, and now she was his. 

He wriggled round on the futon to look into her sweet angelic face, and felt his body grow warm with love. She was sleeping so peacefully… 

Yesterday had been an amazing success. Everyone had praised him, complimented him on his new bride—so gay and merry. She had been wonderful. He had been bursting with pride as he watched her mingle with the guests, charming each and everyone with her youthful sensitivity and grace. 

And last night…Shinji felt his heart erupt with joy. He had been with her, and it had been everything he had imagined...bliss and far more. He remembered undressing her gently, then himself as she lay on the futon looking up at him. Then he got beside her and began kissing her tenderly, savouring the innocent sweetness of her, the way he had always wanted to. 

As she pressed her face into his chest, he had felt something cool and wet slide down his stomach and stopped abruptly. "Do you—do you want me to stop?" he had asked tentatively, alarmed and concerned. He looked down into her aquamarine eyes filled with an emotion he could not put a name to, and felt his throat constrict painfully. 

"No, no," she answered softly, and pressed her face onto him, as if to stop her tears. "No. I love you and I want to be with you." He could swear his heart had stopped then, because never had he experienced such empowering ecstasy. To hear her speak those words, he felt almost as if he had discovered a part of him he had once lost, and now he was whole again. "Misao…" he murmured quietly, as he brought her to him and stroked her hair with his trembling hand. 

Shinji had known, he had known all along that Misao would be the one to show him true happiness, to complete all that he was, all that he had lived for. And now, as the sun's warm rays caressed her glossy hair which now spread out like a fan on the futon, he reached a hand out to touch her skin, almost as if to assure himself that she was there—that she was real.

Her eyes fluttered open at his touch, and he caught his breath at the depth of her aqua eyes. An unidentifiable emotion flickered across them, then disappeared. She was—was she happy? "Misao…are you happy?" he asked hoarsely.

Puzzlement, poignancy, dullness. "Yes, Shinji. Of course." She caught a flicker of uncertainty on his face, then a great sadness. And she found she could not bear him being unhappy. "Shinji!" she cried, startling the both of them. "Don't be stupid—I am so happy with this, I'm so happy with doing this! This is the best decision I've ever made!"

She watched as his face was transformed. He was happy again. She would do anything to keep him happy. And was she happy? Yes. Yes. Yes. She was happy—hadn't she just said it? Yes. Then what was this that was eating her up inside slowly? It wasn't happiness. Anger? No, it wasn't that either. It wasn't anything anymore. The great void inside her seemed to grow in heavy emptiness.

It was a sultry evening some months later when Misao found out she was pregnant. She had been refusing to eat for the past few days, weakened and fatigued to the point of looking like a living skeleton. Shinji was anxious and distressed, for he could not bear seeing his wife so ill. But when he asked her what was wrong, she would shake her head and smile at him, telling him that she was alright and there was nothing to worry about.

He had brought home some medicine for her just that morning, telling her gently not to worry so much. And she had smiled at him and told him that she would try to. But then, as she retched in the bathroom, pangs of worry filled her because she knew that no matter what stress living a life of misery and yearning brought, it would never result in her vomitting so violently.

And she had gone to see Oshima Sensei, not trusting Tomiko, and the news had been relayed to her. She didn't know what to feel, or whether she should feel anything. But somehow, it didn't come as a surprise. Because life was stark for her now, simply a matter of survival. It didn't matter what came her way because it never would change the things she wanted to change.

As was inevitable, the news soon reached the Aoiya.

"Misao, that's amazing! We're so happy for you!" Okon and Omasu squealed. Shiro and Kuro just gave big dumb knowing grins, and Okina smiled at her with a gentle fatherly smile, almost as if he were proud of her. Proud of me? She thought, the ends of her mouth lifting sardonically. Proud of me living a life of deceit and lies? Hatred and regret? Proud of me putting on this act?

Never a day passed when a fleeting thought about Aoshi didn't pass through Misao's mind. She thought about him daily, and in the mirthlessness and deep irrepressible depression of her soul, she was forced to confront the love she felt for Aoshi and Shinji. She didn't love Shinji. She knew that now. It had taken so long, taken so many events just to get her to realize that. She loved him as a friend.

And Aoshi…the more she thought about it, the more she knew with ultimate certainty that he was the one she had always wanted. Her whole life she had loved him. Even as a child. She didn't just adore him with the narrow-minded, immature thinking of a child, she loved him as a woman even back then.

Now it was that and so much more. She didn't even know if she could call this burning longing, this aching yearning in her heart love. She could barely sum up all this thirst, hunger and raw ardent craving with such a simple shallow word.

She didn't see him anymore. He never came to visit, and when she went over, he was never around. She hadn't asked any of the Oniwabanshuu what had become of him, because she was scared and because she was adamant.

She was scared because she didn't want to know whether he had left Kyoto for some place else, leaving her behind to deal with this sickening solitude beyond which lay nothing but dark empty chasms, places where once had lain options—several of them, but now lay empty, hollow, vacant. Like her whole god-forsaken being.

And yet she was adamant. She wanted to be strong, wanted to carry on without him, even in the face of the crushingly bleak future. He had shown himself able to live without her, he had proven he did not need her in his life. And something inside her cried out for the strength that he possessed, that she could have it too and be content.

Yet how can I be content when everything I once thought I had, or would have had sooner or later, has now been ripped away from me? Love is such a distant dream, an unreal fantasy, an illusion that could never be brought to life. All I had, everything—even my dreams and thoughts are either gone or stained beyond purity.

And so she began to pine in lost despair. The feeling of loss so overwhelmed her, that she stayed in her room all day, refusing to eat, refusing to talk. They were worried at first, then gradually gave up when they realized she would not give in.

And she found she liked it that way.

Okina's eyes glinted as he made his way purposefully toward Misao's room. They glinted with something wrought into him with age: stubbornness. He didn't know what was wrong with her, but he was determined to find out. A sting of irritation made him scowl. What was wrong with the half-starved thing? She had stayed in her room for the past few days, selfishly turning food and comfort away. Well he was going to remedy that.

So annoyance was the first thing he confronted Misao with when he entered her room. He found her curled up in a fetal position on the futon, a small bundle of skin and bones. "What's wrong with you?" he asked in angered frustration and exasperation. She didn't answer, instead lay still, her back towards him.

"I said, what's wrong with you?" he repeated angrily. When there was no response, he snatched her arm roughly and twisted her frail body around to face him. "Misao, this is not like you at all! Is this what I've raised you to be? A selfish self-centred brat who thinks the world revolves around her?"

She stared unblinkingly at him. Her reaction, or lack thereof, infuriated him. Before he knew what he was doing, his callused hand reached up and slapped her across the face with a resounding smack. He was appalled by his own actions at first, but the hard-headed and obstinate part of him refused to yield.

"WAKE UP! You are pregnant, Misao! You are living with the responsibility of another life! Not just your own which you want to toss away carelessly as if nothing mattered except yourself. I've seen men—hundreds of them, who struggled to make their way through situations far worse than anything you've ever imagined. None of which compare to yours! You've not seen death or suffering yet, and I refuse to feel sorry for you until you have!" He stopped to catch his breath.

Misao had been clutching her face, tears streaming out unconsciously from her eyes now dried of the life that had once burned within her. "But I have…Jiya. I have seen suffering, for I have suffered myself." She winced at his enraged expression, and forced herself to continue before he interrupted.

"Do you know what it's like to live without a soul? Do you know what it's like to feel everything you've ever detested or feared, growing deep within the pits of your stomach? Do you know what it's like to harbour and live for something you hate with all your heart? And feel it growing, a life on its own? No! So, don't tell me—" She paused for her throat was to the brim with choked hurt and indignance.

"—so don't tell me that you know what suffering is. Death is one thing, while living when already dead is another." She stopped, turning her despondent blue eyes away from him, for looking at him pained her so.

Okina tried not to sway from the shock of Misao's words. She looked at him reproachfully as if she blamed him for everything that had happened to her, and he could not bear that. He wanted to be firm and steadfast in his stand, but he found he could not. He wanted to say, "Don't be stupid. You have a happy life with a perfect husband and doting friends and family" but he could not. Her words had shown just how this insufferable sorrow had twisted her insides, and forced her to grow up and see things beyond the childish light she had once seen things with.

"You see, Jiya. I hate my baby. Not because he's done anything, but because he is. His existence weighs me down, ties me down, reminds me that I'm not the Misao I was—and will never be again. So you see…"

Yes, I see. I see it all too clearly now. He nodded distractedly as he departed, his step not quite steady.

Misao crumbled to her knees when the vomitting finally stopped. Why was this getting so serious? She wondered weakly, dabbing at the perspiration that plastered her jet black hair to her forehead. She swabbed at it when she heard approaching footsteps.

"Misao-chan?" She turned and saw Omasu at the door, concerned and anxious. "Misao? Are you alright?" It was painfully obvious that she wasn't, for her face was drained of all colour and her breath came out in short painful spurts.

Omasu gritted her teeth. Why was the pregnancy so hard on poor Misao? It wasn't as if things weren't more than she could manage…Misao was already reduced to skin and bones, and no one could guess that she was supposed to be pregnant. Her complexion was pallid and her eyes cloudy with a perpetual dull sheen that refused to go.

"Misao-chan! You'll never guess who's here! C'mon! We'll get you cleaned and dressed!" Omasu urged, ushering the emaciated girl out of the room. "Who?" she echoed weakly. Omasu smiled excitedly, certain that the news would bring a smile to Misao's lips. "Aoshi-sama's here!"

"It's good to see you, Aoshi-sama," Okon said mildly. She really didn't know what to say to him. This man…tall, dark and ominous with a pale expressionless face that showed no weakness, only strength…strength and nothing else. Was he—could she really call him Aoshi-sama now? He was but a stranger now. A stranger and nothing more.

Suddenly she felt incredibly self-conscious in his presence. Why should she be? She had known him back when he was made okashira…they had been good friends and fellow comrades. Hardly what you would call strangers.

Swallowing her discomfort, Okon made an effort to lighten the atmosphere. "Misao's coming soon! Omasu just went to get her!" Pause. Did she really expect an answer? "So what has been going on in the two months you've been gone, Aoshi-sama? We haven't seen you for quite a while…"

The silence seemed to swallow her. Okon couldn't stand it any longer. "I'll—I'll just go see if they're coming!" she cried, fleeing as fast as her feet could take her.

Aoshi watched the retreating Okon. What was he feeling now? Remorse? Grief? Guilt? No. None of that. He wasn't feeling anything. He didn't feel anymore. And he liked it. He liked not feeling. It made him feel safe, protected.

Then why was he here? A sudden sound made him look up. An owl was flying in the sky above him, its snowy white wings outstretched as it glided on the soft evening air. It landed noiselessly on a branch. The night was warm, humid.

"Konbanwa, Aoshi-sama." He glanced up sharply. She was beautiful, as always. Her ebony hair was untied now, snaking down her slender back. But her kimono—hung on her. Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes were—her eyes were—

He got up, stunned. "Misao—" he began, his composure forgotten. "You—" "Yes?" she replied nonchalantly. Her eyes were cold and unfeeling. He couldn't have been more shocked if Misao had went right up to him and slapped him. Her eyes—her beautiful emerald eyes—they were gone, replaced by hardness and—something he could not name.

Does this remind you of someone? Huh, Aoshi? Truth, dread, shock made him inhale sharply. How long has it been? Two months? She had changed. She was no longer Misao. But then again…neither was he Aoshi.

This was not what he'd expected. It wasn't at all what he'd had in mind. He wanted to see Misao—not this apathetic dark shadow of her. He took an instinctive step back. Fear coursed through his veins. Fear? Of Misao?

The night seemed to engulf him. All the feelings—the emotions he should have felt, but refused to, now swarmed in upon him, almost choking him in their thickness. The day of the wedding rushed back to him like flowing water from a dam, raging now that they were unleashed. He had been there. Oh yes. He had watched her walk to the shrine, and offer sacrifices to the gods, and kiss Shinji. He had watched her charm, enthral, ravish the guests. He had watched her lips—never without their blithe curve. Ah, but he had seen through her facade. She was a good actress. He knew her inside out—she could never hide anything from him. She was not happy, but he had convinced himself that she would be—somehow. Shinji would find it in himself to make her happy, the way Aoshi had always wanted to. After all, he was perfect for her, and she for him.

She hadn't known he was there. He had seen her eyes, searching imploringly, almost desperately, but not finding. And it was better this way, he had told himself. Everything had turned out the way they were supposed to.

"Where were you?" He was jolted back to the quiet evening by her soft reprimand, as light and caressing and—quavery as the breeze on his skin. "Where were you—when I needed you? You said you would always be there. You said it yourself, and you promised that you would never leave me. But when I looked and didn't find, I knew that you were gone. You were gone and you didn't tell me—anything…" her voice trailed off. Did she want to continue? Or was she unable to?

When she finally went on, her voice was choked, shaky, strained. "But I didn't cry. No. I told myself that I would not shed one tear for you. Because you are so heartless, because you are so—cruel. I wouldn't—I will not cry…" And now she broke down, convulsive sobs wracking her thin frame. They were harsh ugly sounds, shattering the quietude of the evening. He watched on.

She fell to her knees in a shaking heap. Never had such bitter tears fallen from her eyes, never had such hot sorrow scalded her cheeks. Never had she hated, and so loved. Never had she wanted so much—just to be held. But no arms enfolded her in warmth, no comforting endearments were whispered into her ear.

So… so it is. So this is what it has come to.

She got to her feet, mustering as much dignity as the situation permitted her to, scrubbing at her face with her palm as she did. "Sumimasen, I must retire now." And she fled, her lonely footsteps echoing—reverberating on the walls of the small garden.

Like the glint of a sword in the shadows, the realization of just how much loneliness and misery those footsteps meant, would mean, seemed to split something open inside of him. He was running—to catch up with her, his footsteps echoing hers. And then she was in his arms and he held on tight, the preciousness and fragility of her being boring right through his soul. He knew, in that single moment, that the answer he had searched for all his life, the answer that Himura had found, was in love. Loving her. It was so simple and yet so complex. He didn't care that hotness spilled from his eyes, he didn't care that she gasped and looked up at him wonderingly. He squeezed his eyes shut and held her closer, unable to let her go. I don't know how to let you go, Misao…I never did.

"Run away with me, Misao."

Notes: I'm really beginning to hate Aoshi now. I mean, I REALLY hate him. I hope the wedding procedures were alright. I did some research but you can never be too sure…

  



	5. Part Five: Of The Body

Conflicts by Charlene

Part Five: Of the Body

Standard disclaimers apply

It doesn't mean much/it doesn't mean anything at all/the life I've left behind me/is a cold room/I've crossed the last line/from where I can't return/where every step I took in faith betrayed me/and led me from my home/you take me in/no questions asked/you strip away the ugliness/that surrounds me/are you an angel/am I already that gone/I only hope that I won't disappoint you/when I'm down here on my knees/sweet sweet surrender/is all that I have to give/and I don't understand/by the touch of your hand/I would be the one to fall/I miss the little things/oh I miss everything—Sarah McLachlan's "Sweet Surrender" 

"Run away with me."

What heady enticing sweetness those words held for Misao. The "yes" had bubbled out of her before she could contemplate—anything. "Yes," she spoke urgently into his chest. Then—"Yes"—softly. Contentment overwhelmed her. She had never been so close to him before and she didn't care if he was lying—the words were so deceivingly sweet that she didn't care. I only want to be with you…in every possible way.

And there they stood, soft and sweet moonlight bathing them in an ethereally beautiful glow, deliciously oblivious to everything around them.

"So I see. This must have been going on for a while now," came a soft murmur from the shadows. A sudden shift in the moon's position revealed Tomiko, a malicious smile curving her lips. She withdrew further into the darkness, reveling in her new discovery as she made her way swiftly to the clinic.

It seemed like an eternity before they parted, Misao trembling with the sensitivity and tenderness of it all. When she looked up to shyly meet his gaze, her breath caught in her throat. "Aoshi-sama!" she breathed.

His eyes glinted in the velvety softness of the night, but they were not glinting with indifference, annoyance or any of the few dark emotions he usually allowed himself to reveal. There was a touch of tenderness in those eyes, and faint signs of emotions Misao never knew existed in her Aoshi-sama stirred in the depths of midnight blue.

He was—different, somehow. She didn't know what, or how, but she did have a faint clue as to why. And she reached a hesitant hand out to touch him, like a child reaches out to make the acquaintance of a stranger without words.

He blinked. Once. Twice. And when he spoke, his voice was thick. "We will go—far from here. We will never return again. Would you—would you like to say your goodbyes?" Tears streamed from her eyes as she shook her head mutely, and he took her hand in his. She didn't know what she was crying for—happiness or sadness.

They will know I am happy. Happy for I have found the one thing I have searched for all my life. There is no need to say goodbye. They know I am happy.

A sudden wail, high-pitched and anguished, jolted Misao out of Aoshi's arms. She never knew an animal cry such as this could leave a man's lips. "Misao!" Shinji, incensed and disbelieving of the scene unfolding before his eyes, stood at the entrance of the Aoiya. Dread stabbed at Misao and she struggled to breathe.

"Y-you…" he gasped, evidently trying to gather himself. "She loves me," Aoshi's hard voice rang out. Shinji's glance darted wildly from the chagrined girl to the man holding her. Shock solidified into red hot fury as Shinji felt the familiar indescribable hate burn him up from inside. "So." Misao flinched at the tautness of his voice.

"So this is how it is, huh?" His face was tight, the features contorted in pain, bitterness and some sick semblance of calm which sent icy shivers down her back. "But I can't let it be this way—you know? I wouldn't be a man if I just let the two of you run off together. Come, Aoshi. We will fight."

"The outcome is obvious, the victor has been chosen. Leave quietly and I will not hurt you." Misao looked up in horror, but Aoshi's face had closed again. The two men she had loved were now nightmarish monsters in a staged act, a bizarre dream. Panic and terror made her feel faint. She grabbed onto a nearby seat and slumped over quickly.

They hardly noticed. "Even though fate has decided everything, even though I am the one left standing alone in the end, I will fight—not because I am a man, not because of my pride, but because I love her. Not until the last blow, not until the last breath leaves my lips, will I rest." These words, so coolly stated, seemed to create an impregnable barrier around the two and Misao was left forgotten by the table. There was no hint of disquiet on Aoshi's face, but there was an air of vehemence surrounding Shinji. The silence was deafeningly palpable to her ears.

"Then I will oblige you."

Shinji threw the first blow, which Aoshi effortlessly dodged. A quick exchange of blows left Shinji with a split lip and a bruised cheek and Aoshi untouched. Shinji did not charge with blind ferocity, instead he calmly took his stance again as if nothing had happened. This time Aoshi charged with blinding speed, aiming a punch at Shinji's stomach. Finding no way to avoid the blow, Shinji blocked.

The impact drove him several feet back, but he was unhurt. Aoshi was not finished, for as soon as Shinji let down his guard, a lightning fast kick threw him clear across the garden. Shinji landed heavily, coughing up blood in the process.

Aoshi did not let down his guard, for he knew that Shinji would stand up time and time again, until his legs could no longer support him. He was right. Carelessly swiping at the blood with his sleeve, Shinji struggled to his feet and took his stance.

As the sickening thuds of flesh against flesh and then flesh hitting the ground filled the garden, Misao sprawled out on the table, completely drained of energy. She flinched each time Aoshi threw a blow, almost as if she were the one getting hit. Shinji's words came back to her. "I will fight—not because I am a man, not because of my pride, but because I love her." Because I love her. Because he loves me.

And suddenly she knew what she must do. Summoning the last ounce of energy she possessed, Misao reached into her kimono and—

"Sleep." Aoshi's fist headed straight for Shinji's face—the final blow, when a searing pain seized his arm. He stumbled back, clutching his arm and saw a kunai embedded in it. He looked sharply at Misao, gaping in disbelief. She stood by the table, smiling apologetically, almost angelically—the very picture of innocence and beauty.

And then the brilliant blue of her kimono and the blackness of the night seemed to melt together into a thick dark haze encumbering his vision. He didn't cry out as he hit the ground, he was already unconscious.

Feverish dreams tormented his weary body so drained of strength. Everyday someone would whisper comforting endearments and soothe his heated forehead. She would sing to him, and hush his strange incoherent babblings.

Sometimes he would cry out to be touched, and she would hold his hand. But when he cried and no one answered, he would throw a fit, screaming dementedly. Then she would come, embracing him close, murmuring sweet things—things that put him into a restless slumber. Everyday he yearned for her touch, and her voice, because these were things that pulled him out of the large hall where gun shots rattled the walls and the sickening coppery smell of blood pervaded his consciousness.

They rescued him from a dark library, where slashed paper danced in every direction and books tumbled from their shelves. Swords meeting again and again with deafening clashes and something else—darker and more dangerous than a weapon slashing into him, seeping hot hate and fury into him.

And finally a small shack where a darting speedy shadow evaded his attack, and silver glints of nunchucks flashed out of nowhere. And then slow sorrow coated the memory with its gentle resignation, because he had lost something there. Something that was very precious to him, and that he could not gain back.

But a pair of brilliant blue eyes staring unblinkingly at him, eerie amidst the blood and broken weapons, seemed to almost offer solace to him. They seemed to say "We will alleviate your pain and suffering, and we will assuage all your fears. Nothing will hurt you then." Each time he saw them, he would reach out, whimpering for them to come to him. But they fled everytime he tried to grasp them, and once again it was the placating cooing tones of the girl that soothed his troubled heart.

Layers and layers of blackness befell him, countless waves of memories swept over him, and he felt so—smothered. Amidst the numerous wars he battled, a spark of gratification for the girl who nursed him and determination to win over the intriguing blue eyes spurred him on. He knew he could not do without them.

"How is he?" Misao asked anxiously, hovering behind Shinji. "He'll live. He just needs more time to recover," he said shortly, getting up with a soft grunt of pain. The man on the futon groaned, muttered something about evil, then tossed and turned restlessly. Misao was at his side in an instant, stroking his feverish forehead.

"I'll get going." Misao looked up, startled. Just as Shinji was about to leave on his crutches, she jumped up and touched him timidly on the shoulder. He turned slightly, and she said in a barely audible voice, "I thank you—so very much." He nodded sharply, then shrugged her hand off and made for the door.

Misao watched as he made his way slowly and painfully to the exit, then saw him stop and turn abruptly. Her eyes brightened expectantly. "Don't tire yourself out so much. You are living for two now." Misao glanced down involuntarily at her protruding abdomen and offered him a weak smile.

She saw the ends of his mouth lift slowly, then fall back down again. He was not ready to forgive her yet. He shuffled off, leaving her to nurse her patient in peace. Misao drew a ragged sigh as she dropped back by his side.

How was she to know that the kunai had been saturated with poison? She remembered Okina handing her the wrapped package on her birthday. "Special kunai. Use only in extreme conditions," he had instructed. She had been delighted, but upon finding out they were similar to her ordinary kunai, she cleanly forgot about his warning and had tucked them into her kimono without a second thought. She hadn't had to defend herself since her last birthday, and so she never knew.

She almost laughed aloud. How weak her excuse sounded! How lame she must look, strung between two men—one she had betrayed, and another she had very nearly killed. Both she had loved. Both she had hurt. She let her gaze wander idly over the slumbering man, who was breathing with apparent difficulty.

Suddenly she wished desperately for Aoshi to open his eyes and tell her that everything was alright, that he'd forgiven her and that they would run away together—away from Shinji and all the rest. Tentatively, she lay her hand on his left cheek. "Please won't you wake up? Please won't you recover and take me away from all this? I need you now, more than ever, so won't you please…"

Aoshi lay on the futon, unmoving. Unmoved. He showed no sign that he had heard her, or that he could feel the hot tears spill on him as her shoulders shook with barely suppressed sorrow.

Morning.

Misao roused herself from the bedside and squinted at Aoshi. He was still unconscious—when would he awake? She stared at him a moment longer, then got up to wash.

Coming from the washroom, she met Omasu who had started breakfast. "Come and eat something, Misao. You look like a ghost," she said, shaking her head in disapproval. Maybe I am, she thought, as she politely declined the offer. "I'm not hungry and besides, I would probably just throw it all up anyway."

When she saw Okon coming toward them with a tofu tub, she asked cheerily, "Are you going to the market?" When Okon nodded, she took the tub and volunteered to go in her place. "Are you sure? You should be resting at home, with the baby and—all." Okon was hesitant. Misao just smiled and shook her head.

It was a cool morning, one in which the sun refused to offer warmth and chilling winds swept the leaves up into a strange dance of death. But Misao hummed a tune she used to know as she made her way to the market. It seemed that she thrived on these mornings now. The tofu tub swung with each step.

She waited as the tofu vendor filled the tub and quietly observed the strangers going about their business. Life seemed so trivial all of a sudden, when you watch it from afar. Mundane chores, everyday routines, they were things no one did without, and yet nobody seemed to wonder why they had to exist for such trivialties. Was everyone as content as they seemed?

She thanked the vendor and paid for the tofu, then decided not to go home just yet. She wanted to sit down and watch all the market-goers, because they fascinated her. Setting the tub beside her, she settled down by the stall and sat hunched with her legs hugged to her body. It was cold.

Her aqua eyes travelled over the crowd, lingering on some people, softening when a child was being reprimanded by his mother, laughing when a group of old women haggled loudly with the stallholder over some measly fish.

I wonder what you will be like, she thought absently, unconsciously putting a hand to touch her growing stomach. Will you be like your father? Wilful, dare-devilish, rash. Or will you be like me? Tomboyish, careless, outgoing. Are you a boy or are you a girl? For the first time, it occurred to her that she hadn't even thought of a name for her child. Heck, she hadn't even given it a second thought since she found out about it.

Sudden resoluteness filled her heart. It was her baby, after all. It was part of her, it didn't deserve to be treated like this. She got up and dusted herself. I will be a good mother, the best there is, she resolved, feeling life flow back into her veins. Yes, and you will be a healthy happy baby because I will never let anything happen to you.

For once since everything had started, she felt in control. She had something—she owned something, and it was hers alone to protect, to love, to care for. It didn't need anything but love and that she could give. Freely. It was hers and it would be the only one she could depend on, even after everyone else had left her.

In the strange sea of huge stifling waves that was her life, she had finally found something to hold on to.

"Shin-san! Please won't you take some tea? It's fresh and hot and I brewed it myself!" Tomiko implored, her beautiful green eyes sparkling. Shinji glanced up at the lovely lady in front of him. "Leave me alone, Tomiko."

He was tired—his wife had betrayed him, he had nearly been beaten to death by the man she chose over him a week ago. Why wouldn't she stop perplexing him? She had been here almost everyday since the fight, trying to get him to eat and to try her terrible tea. Didn't she understand that things could never be like they were?

Irritation and fatigue made him snap when he saw her lips tremble and her eyes fill with tears. "Why don't you find someone else to bother?" He watched impassively as she broke down and dashed off, wailing and babbling. Half shuddering half grinning, he returned to his medical reports.

Tomiko curbed her wails once it was clear that he would not come after her. Why couldn't he come to his senses and see that Misao had left him for someone else, and would never return to his side? While here she was, a gorgeous charming lady in her prime trying to make him forget about his worries and anxieties, and all he could do was pine, grouch and scowl.

She hated Misao for that. That bitch—who did she think she was? She wasn't even half as beautiful as she was, and she deluded herself that she was caught between two men and could make her choice whenever she wanted to. Well, Tomiko would prove she was wrong. She would make Shinji forget all about that miserable wench, and make him happy again. And she would cut off all ties between them.

What ties? All the possibilities raced through Tomiko's sharp mind. Their marriage was already on the rocks, there was nothing she could do there. They would probably get separated soon. And once she convinced Shinji that she was the one for him, she would persuade him to leave this miserable town and settle somewhere else—far away from Misao and the baby. The baby. She had forgot about that. It was probably the only thing posing a threat to her. Well, she would have to do something about that, wouldn't she?

As she made for the medical supply in the clinic, she didn't realize that one small but crucial possibility had slipped her thoughts.

She had forgotten about—love.

"Misao-chan. Someone's here to see you," Omasu called through the thin door to Aoshi's room. Misao got up slowly, steadied herself because of the sudden dark curtains that seemed to close in on her whenever she made a sudden movement, and slid the door open. She was a wreck—she knew, but she didn't care.

She stopped in her tracks when she realized that her unexpected visitor was Tomiko. "Tomiko-san!" she gasped, then reached a hand out to the door as she reeled from shock. Tomiko, instead of mocking her, gave her a grave, almost motherly smile and held her delicate hand out to Misao, offering her support. Misao gratefully accepted.

When they were safely settled at a table by the koi pond, Tomiko observed aloud, "You've been very weak lately." Misao nodded. That wasn't new. She turned slightly to watch the koi cutting swiftly through the soft silky waves of water. She didn't even have the strength to feel resentment or suspicion toward this long-time enemy of hers. After all, since the wedding, Tomiko had left the two of them—Shinji and her, in peace and Misao figured that she had given up.

"—must take care, what with the baby and all," Tomiko was saying. Misao nodded quickly, not wanting to be disagreeable. "So, on Shinji's request"—Misao's eyes glanced sharply up at that—"I have brought you some special tonic to brew. It will increase your metabolic rate, and you will eat more. It's good for the baby."

"Shinji…asked you to give me this?" she responded softly, her voice the ghost of a whisper. Tomiko nodded earnestly. "He's really worried about you now, even if he doesn't show it." Misao could hardly believe her ears. She couldn't believe that Shinji, the man she had broken her lifelong vow to, the man she had humiliated and made a cuckold out of, could still care for her. His words came ringing back, thunderous in their boldness and truth. "Even though fate has decided everything, even though I am the one left standing alone in the end, I will fight—not because I am a man, not because of my pride, but because I love her. Not until the last blow, not until the last breath leaves my lips, will I rest."

Tears sprang to her eyes as she accepted the tonic gratefully. "Tomiko-san…" she began, strong emotions gathering thickly in her throat. "I thank you with all of my heart." Tomiko smiled at that. "You're welcome. Now you just get better and make sure the baby is healthy and everything will be okay."

As she watched the older woman leave gracefully, Misao tried hard to rein in her fast-flowing emotions. He still loves me, after all. He's loved me all along. I can't let him down, but I already have. Dismay and horror gripped her when she realized how similar she and Shinji were, to her and Aoshi. Except the roles were reversed, and she was the one who did not—could not love.

And now she understood how he felt. For hadn't she, once upon a time, felt that way also? Guilt stabbed at her and her heart ached for the pain she knew she was causing him. But she couldn't do anything to change things—not right now.

Re-entering Aoshi's room, she changed the cold compress on his forehead and checked his temperature and pulse methodically. Both were stable and were good signs of a steady recovery. Have you been feeling all this all the while? She asked him silently. Have you been feeling unable to love me, the hopelessness and futility of wanting to but always being held back? She placed her hand tenderly over his.

Suddenly, she felt his fingers twitching. She grabbed them, her heart leaping at the chance that he might open his eyes in the next moment. "Haanya…is she safe? Good. Let's go…She is but a child, you know we can't take her along…No arguments. This is final…" Misao's eyes widened. He was re-enacting his departure from the Aoiya with his four faithful comrades!

Then he stopped, his forehead creased in a grimace. Silence, then—"I will miss her." She smiled faintly at that. Stooping to drop a quick kiss on his forehead, Misao got up, overcame her nausea, and went over to the table where she had placed the tonic. Picking up the packet of dried herbs, she went to the kitchen to brew them.

In the room, Aoshi stirred. He squinted painfully as daylight hit him like an iron shaft. He slowly surveyed his surroundings and, on finding them familiar, lay back again to rest. His muscles ached horribly, and as he lifted his right arm gingerly, he saw that the wound Misao had inflicted on him was swathed in a large clean bandage.

The wound that Misao had inflicted on him…or the wounds, rather. Why had she done it? Did she still love him? Cruel confusion ravaged his mind as he lay on the futon, unable to move because of the hurt both inside and out.

The door opened.

He struggled to get up. Misao walked in, holding a small bowl of something. When she saw him, she nearly dropped it. "Aoshi!" she cried, tossing the bowl carelessly onto the table and rushing to his side. You forgot the –sama, he thought sarcastically.

"You're awake! Do you feel okay? Shinji said it would be a while—"

"You had Shinji treat me?!" his voice cut in roughly. She nodded dumbly, her arms hanging limply at her sides. His eyes widened when he noticed her abdomen. "Kisama! What the hell—" She looked down then back at him, dismay and regret flooding her eyes. "I—I—"

His face held horror and shock so openly, it seemed almost that he was repulsed by the fact that she was pregnant. Misao immediately became defensive. "I thought Omasu or the others had told you! After all, you hadn't been around for so long, I guess they must've forgot!"

He shook his head mutely. It seemed like hours before he mused aloud bitterly, "Shinji's baby…isn't it ironic that a part of my enemy should survive in my loved one?" The unanswered question hung in the air like poison. Misao struggled to keep herself from screaming at him. "I thought…I thought you would be happy, but I guess I was a fool. But this baby is mine, and no one is taking her away from me!" she barked, the urge to shout too powerful to contain. Aoshi paused for a while, the few emotions she could read on him unreadable. The next thing he said she would never comprehend.

"Her? It's a girl?"

She stood there, tears coursing down her cheeks uncontrollably, as she began to giggle. "Yes! Of course it's a girl! You wouldn't expect anything less of Makimachi Misao the leader of the Oniwabanshuu—would you?" Her giggles wouldn't dissolve no matter how she tried, and soon she was helpless, hanging onto the table for support.

Then another sound joined hers, intertwining sweetly. He was laughing. She stopped immediately, wonderment and incredulity replacing the relief. It was quiet laughter, slow and undulating, but you couldn't really expect any more from him.

He got up slowly, and strode over to her. She held her breath as he picked her up with his uninjured arm, and then lay her gently on the warm futon. "I think you need to rest more than I do," he said, his serious tone returning. But the sparkle in his eyes didn't go, instead they seemed to twinkle all the more as he watched her flush heavily.

"I'll be back once I've found out what I've missed," he said, a trace of amusement still lingering in his words. He turned to go, but, as he passed the table, he sniffed the air and eyed the bowl of tonic warily. "What's this?"

"Tonic. For the baby."

"Who gave it to you?" Misao stared, puzzled by his sudden interest in the tonic. "Shinji. Tomiko said it increases my meta—" "It's wild ergot. It starts your contractions, Misao." Shock and horror filled the room, pervading its walls with its poisonous fumes. Misao struggled to speak through the choking disbelief. "Wha-what do you mean?"

When he spoke, his voice was hard, his words even harsher, and they bore down on her for the weight they carried.

"He intends for you to lose the baby."

Notes: Okay, everybody breathe. It's going to end soon. Next part is the last. About the wild ergot, I got that out of my friend's "Clan of the Cave Bear" though I can't be sure they had that stuff in Japan (most probably not). Nunchucks are the nifty "Teenage Mutant Ninja" weapons Okina used against Aoshi in that almost fatal fight.

  



	6. Part Six: At An End

Conflicts by Charlene

Part Six: At an End

Standard disclaimers apply

I've flown too high on borrowed wings/beyond the clouds and where the angel sings/in a sky containing no one but me/up there's all empty/and down there's the sea/no one here but me/there's nothing but light that comes into sight/there's something here that makes me wince/and I've still got the feelings that I've felt ever since/I got to this place/arrived at last/in front there's the future/right back there's the past/everything's moving so fast/the present like I've never seen it before/is this the right place to stay?/please my wings fly me away—Lene Marlin's "Flown Away"

Shinji stared dully at the sea of medical reports and documents on his desk. On every line, in every sentence, he read Misao's face. On every sheet of paper replayed the scene of the fight over and over. Misao…I ask you to please think of what I've done to and for you. Search deep within yourself and tell me when you find the answers, for I alone cannot find them no matter how hard I look inside me. Maybe they're not even in me…

The sorrow, gentle and almost calming in its familiarity, washed over his heart as he looked out of the window bleakly. Maybe I had better take a walk. I'm getting nowhere with these reports and it might help to clear my head. He shot the unfinished paperwork a final look of disgust and left the room.

Outside was dreary, not much different from indoors, but at least it gave him a sense of freedom. Freedom from the wretched confines of the room, of his heart and mind. The air was thickly saturated with melancholic oppression, almost as if nature was mourning along with him. He was grateful for the comfort it offered in earnest.

Then, a sharp searing pain snatched his breath away. His back felt like it was on fire. The surroundings, shattered by his startled cry, looked on dispassionately as he fell to the ground writhing in agony. Out of pure instinct, he heaved his body over in a crouch, curbing the scorching pain that flamed down his back with a muffled gasp.

Aoshi, brandishing his kodachi, two blinding silver tongues in the murky curtains fast dimming his vision, stood there, an almost imperceptible smirk the only sign of emotion on his face. Sorrow had dulled his senses. He usually could have and should have detected Aoshi's presence behind him, but…

"You die. Today," were his words, as he advanced threateningly. The sky was clouding over and the shadows danced on the grass, almost as if they were celebrating. Shinji was beyond shock or fear, as he crouched on the ground, unmoving.

"Get up," Aoshi ordered harshly. "I won't fight with a man who is down." Shinji lowered his head slowly and smiled to the ground. It was a smile without mirth, a smile that didn't quite reach to his eyes. No thought ran through his mind, no word stopped at his lips. The pain was bearable now, as he got to his feet.

Aoshi watched the man, so like and unlike himself, and felt a shiver of cold guilt. Aoshi was not one who sympathised or pitied, especially not his enemies. He slayed swiftly and without feeling, like Mibu's Wolf and the Battousai. It was essential—the key to survival and victory. Yet now, as he surveyed the man before him with apparent disinterest, he could swear emotion flickered within him.

It wasn't rage, resentment or hatred. Somehow, he couldn't put a name to it…no matter, he had more pressing matters at hand. He removed the katana from his belt and tossed it to Shinji, who caught it easily.

He charged first, the kodachi whisking through the air with their murmur of death. Shinji blocked. Then, as their eyes met over the swords, Aoshi was nearly knocked over when Shinji smiled at him. With a furious snarl, he pulled away and charged again, this time ripping Shinji's sleeve open. "You bastard," he said in a voice thick with loathing, fury taking a hold of him. He had forgotten his mask, rage tumbled out in the form of blind slashes. And blood.

Shinji was wounded again and again, but never did he utter a sound, nor show any sign of discomfort on his face. This time he was the one who was in complete control of himself, and Aoshi was mad with hate and spite. And it was true. Aoshi had no control over what he was doing, as the mountain of accumulated malevolence poured forth violently.

It wasn't long before rain found Shinji sprawled on the ground in a pool of crimson, stark on the green grass. Shinji felt warmth trickle down his forehead, down, down, a small river making its way down the icy range. Then soft needles of rain, cool and welcoming. A single sound found its way out of his throat—a soft sigh.

I've loved you always.

A flash of lightning, the crack of thunder.

Back when we were children…do you remember?

The single glint of the final stroke.

I used to watch you…

The vicious bite of the blade, devouring him in one fluid stroke.

...and oh how I wished you were mine!

The ground as it—or he?—toppled, spinning crazily.

And maybe, somehow…

Darkness shrouding gradually, painlessness beckoning enticingly.

…even now, I still hope…

The final breath—a sigh of contentment, as he surrendered.

…so I'll be waiting.

As Aoshi silenced him once and for all, a maelstrom of emotions descended swiftly upon him. He struggled to comprehend why Shinji was so content and silent when he knew the wounds he inflicted on him were far from bearable. He gritted his teeth in desperation when he found he could not understand why Shinji barely put up a fight. Wasn't his life important to him? Didn't he want to live to win Misao back?

He glanced at his kodachi, ready to flick the blood off it, but it had already been washed off by the sombre rain. And suddenly he understood what it was that had flickered within him earlier. Respect, much as he didn't want to admit it. He respected Shinji now, more than he had ever respected Himura.

Perhaps now he would never know why Shinji was so content to die. Yet even now his enemy was dead, Aoshi was far from at peace. In fact he seemed more perturbed than ever. Curiosity worming its way through his protests, demanded to know the reason behind Shinji's calm facade. But does it really matter now?

He walked slowly through the deluge of rain, then gradually quickened his pace to a run. He ran like he had never run before, as if he were escaping from something—escaping from or in pursuit of? By the time he reached the Aoiya, he was panting from exertion. "Aoshi-sama! Where did you go? You're all wet!" He waved off her concerned protests, saying abstractly, "I'll be busy. Leave me in my room for a while."

Misao watched the retreating figure, puzzled, then froze when she caught sight of a stain on his shirt. Red stained his shirt. Red. Blood…? She shook her head, not wanting to believe. No, he wouldn't. He just wouldn't.

Inside his room, Aoshi peeled off his soaked shirt and tossed it in the corner. I am a man, after all. I couldn't just stand aside. I thought I could, but I couldn't. But I've been doing it for years—why couldn't I stop it this time? When it counted most?

He cradled his head in his wet hands. What was wrong with him? Shouldn't he be rejoicing now that his rival in love had been taken care of? He was supposed to be the okashira…okashiras don't get all flustered and disturbed when they kill…and besides, he had killed a million times before…

Coward. Those are all excuses. You killed the father of her baby, and now the child will be a bastard. He cringed, the thought too much for him to bear. The present was here and now, but the future was something he wanted to protect. And now even that was out of reach. Yet the father was the one who wanted the baby to die after all… Aoshi winced as he remembered Misao's reaction to his discovery of the wild ergot.

"No! You're lying! He would never do something like that!" And yet she knew he wasn't lying, because she backed against the wall on the futon, as if she wanted to get away from his words. A hot simmering anger bubbled within him. To see her so desperate to deny, so fearful of the truth, so pained—pained him.

How could Shinji have wanted to kill off his own child? Aoshi could read it on Misao that had her baby died, she would have been completely destroyed. And Aoshi would never—could never forgive him for that.

So in his blind rage, he had stalked the man, slashed him everywhere ruthlessly. Somehow, while he was tearing Shinji apart, a part of him emerged, a part that had rarely if ever been voiced out or expressed. That sinister part of him frightened him. It was venomous, more murderous than anything else he had experienced. Heck, it had screamed for blood—Shinji's blood. And it made sure it got it.

And what now? Aoshi reached deep inside the core of his plaguing thoughts, desperate to confront the truth, for it was now the only alternative he had. He hadn't wanted to kill Shinji. He hadn't wanted to…god. But it was too late now…it always was, wasn't it…

"I'm sorry," he choked out behind trembling hands. The truth made him weak, it forced him to his knees in deep grief and regret. "I'm sorry." And his shoulders began to heave with soundless unmanly sobs for the enemy he never had.

A man strolled along his way back home. He hummed a tune as he walked, because his day at work had been successfully busy. As he walked, he noticed a petite figure walking towards him, then turning into a house. It was a pregnant lady, and a beautiful one at that too. She had waist long jet black hair and soulful blue eyes.

As he was about to turn into his own house, an ear-piercing scream made him trip and almost cut his head on a large rock. No, he was mistaken. It wasn't a scream. It was a desolate cry so filled with grief and dismay in their truest forms, the sound itself seemed to clamp icy claws around his heart. He leapt to his feet and sprinted in the direction of the scream. It led him to the house the woman had turned into.

There, a disturbing sight awaited him. A man lay face-down on the wet earth, bloodied beyond recognition. The woman he had seen earlier was bent over him. He had expected her to be whimpering with terrified sobs by now, but she knelt over him quietly, pure devastation etched on her lovely features.

Her lips remained silent, her eyes remained dry, and she floundered helplessly on the ground as the man shoved her aside roughly and inspected the body. Even without a trained eye, he could tell the man was already far gone. He turned to the lady, ready to offer some assistance, but she shook her head, her eyes fixed on the corpse in mute horror. He shook his head sadly.

There was nothing he could do to help, and he was filled wholly with a sense of helplessness as he took a moment to offer a respectful prayer to the gods for the lady and the spirit that had left the world.

"Misao-chan! What happened?" Okina asked, catching sight of the unfamiliar man beside her, and the strange blankness on her face. She seemed unable to speak, so the man spoke up. "A man has been killed. I'm not sure, but his family name was Takeshi or something like that. I found her—"

"Shinji!" Before he knew it, the old man was off like a shot. The man supported Misao gingerly, afraid to jolt her, as if she were a porcelain doll. He made her sit down and ran into the house for assistance. Before long, Okina returned his face grim, and he bade Omasu to take care of Misao. He sent the man away with a word of thanks, and then headed to Aoshi's room with a determined air about him.

As Misao was tucked into the futon by a very shaken Omasu, she lay deathly still under the warm cave of covers. The tears came of their own volition, she made no attempt to stop them, but neither did she utter a sound to encourage them. For now the pillow was the only recipient and witness to her black bitter sorrow.

"Shinomori, you—" he stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that the man he was almost ready to kill, was crying. Bewilderment, astonishment came swiftly in its relentless blows. Stunned, he took a step back. For the scene of the stoic unbreakable man he had almost labelled invincible now a broken man, was too much even for him.Then a quiet feeling he had not yet recognized as tenderness surfaced. "Shinomori…" his words faltered, for nothing in their shallowness could ever hope to change anything. Now. Aoshi didn't stop. He refused to. Guilt so slashed away at him, he had never felt such deep complete hatred for himself. Nothing else seemed to matter but this…this crumbling away of his soul, this complete ruination of his being.

The older man watched, slow resignation dulling his features, sharpened by shock. Then anger, sharp and so intent on hurting, stabbed its way through the mellowness of his initial reaction. "Shinomori. Stop. Stop right now."

The latter froze.

Okina barely recognized the severe, unbendingly rigid snarl as his own. "I refuse to allow you to feel sorrow. You have no right to grieve. You have taken something that wasn't yours to take, and that you can never give back. Regret is not yours to draw comfort from. You take your shameful worthless hide out of this house now. Because I never want to see your despicable face again."

What was he saying? What had he just said? Okina struggled to comprehend the full impact of his own words. It took a while for him to realize he was unable to, all he could do was to watch the effects of those hateful words, those words he had never meant to say in the first place, on the grown man before him.

Silence, heavy and brooding, fell and hung like a thick dark haze over the both of them. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I said those words. They're not true. Please, don't—

But the stubborn unrelenting part of him, carved into him with the blunt knife of old age, refused to voice those words. Aoshi got up, refusing to face the other. As he turned to walk out, however, Okina saw that a bitter smile curved his lips and the tears shed earlier went unheeded. A crack. It was a crack in the mask. He left, leaving Okina alone in the room to face the swarthy smothering quiet alone.

The footsteps, heavy and solemn, faded off. It was then that Okina turned around to face the garden. "It's better this way," he said aloud, more to convince himself than anyone else. "It's so much better this way."

Aoshi stumbled blindly onward. He tripped and fell more than once, but the ground moving below him hardly seemed to stop. Misao Misao Misao Misao Misao…help me! Her room door came into view, he flew inside. She was on the futon, motionless, the moonlight bathing her small frame.

He panted heavily, his hungry gaze never leaving her. She stirred, then turned, and he realized that she wasn't even sleeping to begin with. The frightened remonstrances in her hurt blue eyes told him everything he needed to know. "You killed him."

I killed him. Yes, I did. But it was only for you! I did it for you, for us! So that we could be together—you, me and the baby! I know how much you want the baby, I want it too! We could all live happily—

"I saw him, Aoshi. I saw him all bloodied, as dead as… as death!" Now he understood what the horror in her eyes stood for. "Why? Why did you do it?" Her voice was faint, so faint he would not have caught it even in this tireless thunderous quiet that seemed to always engulf him. But he did. And her words were so soft and so—clear, because they meant everything all at once. He could never be with her, after all. After everything. It was always destined to be this way. They were never meant to be.

A soundless pain escaped his lips.

"I did it for you." Flatly. There was no use in anything else, no space for other emotions, couldn't she tell? Everything was over. Don't fight or struggle. Everything will flow. "I LOVE YOU!" These words, so often said in tenderness between young lovers, so often the beginning of everything that was said to be beautiful, was screamed out harshly in the rawness of the emotions that were now exposed.

And in the blink of an eye, everything had changed. "You love me? After all this, you still dare to say…you love me? Aoshi, you have no idea! You have no idea what love is—you never did! Shinji loved me. He died because he loved me. Would you have died for me?" Had he said "gladly" it would hardly have made a difference.

Her voice held mocking ridicule as she spat out her words. She was beyond hate by now. All these shallow feelings meant nothing to her. They made her weak—weren't they the very things that had gotten her into this mess in the first place? "No," she went on tonelessly. "You never loved me. You thought you did, I thought you did, but we were both wrong."

He tried desperately to claw onto whatever that was leaving him now. He was vulnerable. Vulnerability was weak. He needed a shield. But the mask had broken and it lay on the floor in broken pieces, almost mocking in their forlornity. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to cower under. Everything had pierced through and in the end, it was still just him and his pitiful weakness.

He wanted to say something to cover up whatever he had left, to protect what he could, but all that came out was a barely audible croak. Numbness swept through him and he welcomed it with giddy gratitude and relief. The huge tidal wave of emotions that had threatened to consume him had now died down to gentle bobbing waves.

So…loving her…wasn't the answer? He refused to accept that. It had taken him so long—so long, just to shed that god-forsaken mask, and to unearth those feelings buried away for his entire life. And those emotions—those emotions he had so believed to be real and true, were now supposed to be a lie?

I do love you. It took me a long while to realize, but I know I do. No matter what you say or do, I know I love you, because that was part of me for such a long time. Growing and growing. I'm sorry it had to be this way. I'm sorry I didn't do anything sooner. God, if I could do one thing—anything, just to change things right now…

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. For what? No, he knew not what. But he thanked her anyway. He gave her a full open smile as he left—a parting gift?

A parting gift.

She watched him go, the hardness never leaving her eyes. And as he left the door, the full enormity of what she had said hit her. Small aftershocks of faint regret and pain assailed her, but she couldn't bring herself to stand up and go after him. She had done so so many times, and she couldn't do it now. But if she wouldn't do it now, she would never do it again. She could never do it again.

She got up reluctantly, giving into the cold that was invading her heart. She gathered what was left of her and made her way out of the room, down the corridor. When she realized she could no longer hear his footsteps, panic forced her legs into motion, and her hair flew as she ran soundlessly.

Her eyes were wild, the utter wretchedness of her soul painted her face with fear of unimaginable proportions. If he leaves—if you let him, you will be alone. And the frightening truth of those thoughts bore down hard on each flying step she took.

As she arrived at the entrance, a fleeting shadow—all that was left of him, fled from her grasp. Her heart felt so stretched to its breaking point, she thought she would snap. No. She must chase him and find him. And love him.

But all other thoughts swept out of her head when she felt her legs giving way below her. No. She slipped, falling backwards as she felt like everything within her was being sucked out by a vacuum. "NO!" she screamed, then the hard floor below her, and her small frame jarred from the heavy impact. Shock first, paralysing her, then pain.

Then warmth. Trickling down her legs. And for the first time Misao tasted true fear. The first words that came to her mind and leapt to her lips were, "Omasu! My baby! Help me!" She struggled to contain the rising terror within her, and tried to get up. But she found she couldn't.

Why? Why was nobody answering her? God, she was in such pain— She let out another agonizing scream, then lay back, pain throbbing in every nerve of her body. Grim determination replaced her fear. If nobody is around, then I will deliver this baby myself. I could handle ninja training, I could handle Kamatari, I can handle anything!

She untied her obi with trembling hands, and saw with tremendous relief that it was water, not blood that had trickled down her legs. Omasu had drilled her on the process of giving birth and she had listened with vague interest, the baby just only becoming a reality for her back then. Oh, god, how she wished she had listened harder!

The pain was unlike anything else she had ever experienced. And it came in waves of stormy intensity, one after the other. After each one, she was left gasping, clawing, tearing and wishing so much that that had been the last of it. But each wave seemed to grow in their raging paroxysms and when Misao thought she would never hold through another, she did. Please, someone be with me. I can't do this alone! She pleaded inwardly, sweat beading her creased forehead.

As if in answer to her fervent prayer, a sudden cry, "Kisama!" seemed to burst everything inside of her. "Help!" she cried, for although the voice was that of a man and unfamiliar as well, it was truly relieving to hear another human voice. "Kami-sama! You're—are you in labour?" Misao nodded weakly. "Help—me—get through this!" she growled through gritted teeth.

He came into view and now Misao could see that it was the man who had helped her when she had discovered Shinji's dead body. "Wha-what do I do?" he stammered, his eyes wide with panic. Misao darted a wild glance over to the house, then said in a voice tense with pain, "Get towels, warm water and a knife—wash it. It's got to be clean."

"Don't worry," he said, trepidation threading through his voice. "It'll be okay. I'll get the things." And he darted off, wasting no time in collecting the much-wanted objects. On his return, he informed her that he had gathered everything, then sat aside watching forlornly. Occasionally he asked if she needed help but she refused.

It seemed like an eternity before Misao felt something move forcibly within and against her. She gasped in awe, then, no longer fearful, began to push with all her might. The man didn't need Misao to tell him it was coming. He grabbed the towel and knife, unsure of what to do, but certain that he had to do something.

Misao grunted with the strain—every push seemed to take hours, it was moving inch by inch. "Move—damn you!" And then everything seemed to erupt from her as she felt the baby slide out smoothly as if it hadn't been crawling along inch by inch for the past few hours. Misao collapsed, giving in finally to fatigue and exhaustion.

Slow contentment overwhelmed her as she heard the baby's cries, loud and full in the thickening twilight. The man, who had been fumbling with the baby, was now wiping it clean. "Do I cut…?" he asked helplessly, gesturing to the umbilical cord of the baby. She nodded silently, content just to lie there listening to her baby crying, being alive.

After more fumbling, the man glanced wildly at Misao, then offered mildly, "Hold her." Misao squeezed her eyes shut in silent protest. Her arms were so weak—she was so weak she was afraid she would drop it. But somehow she managed to find strength inside to reach out to her baby, and inexhaustible energy suddenly fueled her when she saw its face. So this is what I've been striving for for hours, she thought, warm admiration and pleasure emanating from something deep inside her.

I'm not alone, after all. I thought his leaving would leave me all alone to wallow in my grief and loneliness, but no. You're here now, with me. And you always will be, won't you? You were borne from everything wrong and dishonourable, but we'll make new memories together. Happy memories. I'll protect you and you'll be here for me, okay?

"Isn't she perfect?" she breathed, her face glowing with triumphant exultation. He nodded quickly, still unsure of what to do. "Would you—would you carry me?" she asked faintly, as she felt acute weariness tear raggedly at her. He nodded again, eager to help, then picked her and the baby up quickly. She directed him to her room, and, when she was safely on the futon along with her baby, fell asleep promptly.

The man watched for a few moments, touched by the scene of endearing tenderness. He had come to see how the woman had been doing since that day he had found her beside the dead man, and now he had helped her deliver her baby. Out of the goodness of his heart, he smiled a smile of true gladness, happy to be able to ease her already stifling burden, for he had seen such troubling conflicts tormenting her inner self in her eyes.

The heavy veil of night was lifting, and the rising of the sun tossed rays of marvellous light up into the sky which tinted the bellies of the clouds brilliantly. Dawn. The first warm rays reached a fallen figure, knelt by a large rock.

It was a man, breathing heavily. His body was thrown over the large rock, as he embraced it wholly. He seemed to be deep in troubled sleep, because he muttered unintelligible things feverishly from time to time. He was a broken man, crumpled and almost lifeless for all life had thrown at him.

From behind some bushes, a young woman emerged half laughing half chattering excitedly, until her eyes fell on the destitute figure. She gasped, took two steps back, then called out, "Tou-chan! There's a man lying here!" An old man appeared from behind her, and surveyed the man with interest.

"He's hurt. Badly," he observed. "Help me carry him." "But he's not that hurt. Look—those are flesh wounds," the girl pointed out. Her father nodded enigmatically. "Yes indeed. But he's more battered and bruised inside than out." Hearing this, the girl obliged obediently and struggled to help the man lean onto her father's shoulders.

Aoshi, his mind thickly coated with the fever, could only feel something hard supporting him as he was dragged along. Why can't I die? Why didn't you let me die? With Haanya, Shikijou, Hyottoko and Beshimi…it was by their sides I was happiest…for they would never hurt me and demanded nothing in return for their loyalty. And now, I suppose I'll have to keep living…even though I feel like I have barely enough strength left…and I still haven't found my answer yet…because loving her was never the answer after all…

And then he closed his eyes, too tired to think another thought.

OWARI (Thank God!)

Notes: MWAHAHAHAHA! That was one crappy ending if you ever saw one! Yeah, I'm sorry. *sobering* Wow. That was a seriously terrible ending. I really had to think through a lot to try to figure out how to end this darned fic (so I can get on with my life already!) and when I finally realized that I couldn't end it in a satisfactory manner or in a way that would please me and agree with all the characters, I decided to follow this up with a sequel. (to, you know, ease the disappointment of the lousy ending in this fic) The sequel, if you haven't guessed already, will describe Aoshi's and Misao's lives apart (for once! Gasp!) and will contain several new characters.

Okay, now the impossible task of explaining why A didn't end up with M:

In the course of writing this fic, I really wanted Misao to end up with Shinji, or any other man besides Aoshi, because he always gets his way. _ But no matter how I tried to get that to work, I guess it wouldn't, because the source of A/M's love is too strong.

But still I refused to let Aoshi get his girl, and the only way I could achieve this was by letting Misao possess some strange semblance of love or affection for Shinji, (nothing compared to what she has for Aoshi of course!) and feel totally depressed and upset when she found out about his death. That puts her off for a bit, and she doesn't really know what to do or who to believe. I mean, she is just a sixteen year old after all. That's why they didn't get together in the end. Besides the fact that Aoshi walked away so fast, of course.

And, lastly, in case you were wondering, the large rock Aoshi was embracing was Hyottoko's grave.

Comments and stuff go here: jillwentupahill@hotmail.com (no flames, onegai!)

Thanks for reading and I hope you'll wait for the sequel!!

  



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